


His Pilgrim Soul

by ceallaig



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, fili and kili are not related, happy ending guaranteed, time travel (sort of)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-30
Updated: 2017-02-15
Packaged: 2018-04-01 23:45:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 70,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4039186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ceallaig/pseuds/ceallaig
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili is a struggling artist in Depression-era NYC. Kili is the boy he meets one day in the park, an unusual boy who seems to get older each time they meet. Is he a ghost...or something else?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [constructedmadness (dragonsquill)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonsquill/gifts).



> This is my very first attempt at a non-platonic FiKi, begun in honor of FiKi Week. My additional thanks to my dear friend for letting me use a couple of her character names. It is also my first attempt at a multi-chapter fic. I've done my research into 20's and 30's NYC as best I can, but inaccuracies may occur. If they do, please point them out (I know there are history majors out there). Any and all feedback welcome!
> 
> The title comes from the lovely poem 'When You Are Old' by William Butler Yeats. And a bow of thanks to the wonderful Patrick Ball, whose Celtic harp is my soundtrack for this.

The calendar said it was spring, but as far as Fili could tell, Mother Nature hadn’t gotten the message. He hunched his shoulders and shivered as the sharp teeth of the north wind bit through the threadbare spots in his trousers. Almost home, he thought, not that it was much consolation—his tiny flat with its leaking skylight wasn’t a great deal warmer than the street. And the landlord would be waiting to take the little money he had for the next month’s rent. But it was a roof over his head, and that was more than a lot of folks could say.

He sighed, doing his best to ignore the low-blood-sugar headache forming behind his eyes. No matter how careful he was, or how hard he tried, there just was not enough money to go around. He knew he was in the same boat as millions of others in New York and the rest of the country, but the thought didn’t cheer him. Despite the WPA, PWA, TVA, CCC, and the rest of Roosevelt’s alphabet soup programs, jobs were still scarce, and he had to stretch every dollar till it screamed in agony. 

He thought of the supplies he needed—he was nearly out of several paint colors, and some new canvas would be wonderful. But then, so would a lot of things he couldn’t afford. There were a couple of paintings he wasn’t happy with anyway, so those would be painted over and the canvas reused, and he’d just have to make do with the colors he had…again. Maybe he could talk the owners of the GalleRi into buying a sketch or two—the youngest brother-owner liked watercolors, and those were cheap to work with. He knew he could get a few meals in exchange for mopping and dish washing at Bombur’s café, though he tried not to take unfair advantage of their friendship. The rotund ginger cook had bills to pay, too. He squared his shoulders and walked on, pulling his too-thin coat tighter around him. He’d get by, like he always did, one more time. 

The crocuses in the park tried valiantly to raise his spirits, bright yellow and white and purple luminous against the grays and browns. They fought up through the frozen ground every year, reaching for whatever warmth they could find, thriving and creating spots of beauty. He felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth at the sight. Damned if he was going to let a flower do what he couldn’t. 

The wind died down and the sun poked out from behind a cloud, creating a spot of warmth on a nearby bench. Fili headed for it, pulling a sketchpad and pencil out of his pocket. He doodled idly for a while, putting off getting to his feet and trudging the rest of the way home. Swift sure strokes brought the crocuses to life, and the just-budding trees created a backdrop. Life found a way, and so would he.

The tip of the pencil wore down, and he couldn’t find his pocket knife to sharpen it—probably back at his flat. He hoped he hadn’t lost it; it was a good knife and he couldn’t afford to replace it right now. Poking through his pockets one more time, he glanced down at the bench. Someone had left an old-style cigar box there, fancifully illustrated with a scene of a tobacco plantation and a buxom olive skinned maiden wearing a bright off the shoulder blouse. Her ample charms made him smile and the hot tropical sun shining down on the scene seemed to make the chill New York air feel warmer.

Out of curiosity or boredom, he couldn't really say which, he set the sketchbook on the bench and flipped the lid on the box. Inside was a treasure trove, the detritus that collected on the shores of childhood as time washed along its banks. Fili smiled, remembering his own hoard, long since left behind in a bedroom in Ohio. There were small stones with bits of quartz glittering in the scant sun; marbles of every color of the rainbow, even a steelie (illegal in the games he had played with his friends, but of course everyone had one); a small clasp knife with a pearlized handle; a dried cocoon from which a butterfly had emerged to greet the world; a penny that had been placed on a railroad track and flattened to near-paper thinness; and somewhat incongruously, a short length of spangled blue ribbon, that might have graced a lady's curls.

At the very bottom were a couple of press clippings with no date on them, praise for the talents of a husband and wife acting team on a Shakespearean tour. The grainy photo in one clipping showed a woman not unlike the cigar girl on the box's cover, all dark hair and generous curves. The costume could have been from any of a number of the Bard's works, but the man with her, looking regal in feudal armor, wore a circlet on his fair hair, while the lady looked down demurely. The caption confirmed his guess--it was the proposal scene from _Henry V._ Vali Vivirson and Dis Durin, so the article proclaimed, were performing in an evening of soliloquies and duets including the ever-popular balcony scene from _Romeo and Juliet_ , Marc Antony's eulogy for Julius Caesar, Portia's 'quality of mercy' speech, and bantering from Beatrice and Benedick. 

"Didn't anyone ever tell you not to snoop into other people's stuff?" A boy of about ten stood before him, indignation firing in the mutable brown eyes. Dark curls brushed the collar of his coat, and Fili could see the outline of bunched fists rammed into the pockets. 

Fili felt a flush creep up his cheeks as he carefully placed the article back in the box and reclosed the lid. "You're right, it was very rude of me." He held the box out to the boy, who snatched it from his hands and opened it to make sure everything was still there, glaring at him out of the corner of his eye. "I didn't take anything, I promise."

The boy didn't reply, just checked and counted. After a moment, apparently satisfied that his treasures were safe, he closed the box, and the glare faded a bit. In an attempt to placate him and apologize further, Fili commented, "You have some really neat stuff in there; I can see why you'd be worried that someone would take it."

Just like that, the storm was over, and a huge smile replaced the glower. The boy plopped onto the bench beside Fili, feet swinging. “My papa brought me this box back when he and Mama went on tour. They were in Florida someplace and he got some fancy Cuban cigars. He said he gave them away, but Mama said he smoked a couple. He doesn’t want me to smoke when I grow up. You know Cuba’s only about a hundred miles away from Florida? I stay with my Auntie Bella sometimes when they go far away like that. She’s not really my auntie, but I call her that—she and Mama are like sisters, they’ve been friends forever.” He pulled the press clipping with the picture out of the box, treating it with utmost care. “See, that’s my mama and papa. They’re here in New York now, doing a play at the Erebor Theatre. They’re booked until summer, they said, then they’re gonna take me on tour with them out West, because I’ve never been. D’you think I’ll see cowboys there?”

“I wouldn’t be at all surprised,” Fili said seriously, enjoying the enthusiasm and sheer life of the child. “I suppose since I snooped into your box I should really introduce myself. Philip Oakes—most people call me Fili.”

“Kilian Durin Vivirson, at your service. You can call me Kili,” the boy said, holding out a hand. Fili shook it gravely, slightly surprised by the old-fashioned greeting and the use of his full name. Come to think of it, nearly everything about this boy belonged to a different time—his clothes were well-made but out of date by at least a decade or two (not that Fili knew that much about fashion, but he’d worn similar clothing as a boy), his hair was longer than the current trend, and there was something niggling in the back of his mind about the name of the theatre where his parents were appearing. He’d wrestle with that mystery later. 

“Did you do these?” Kili asked, picking up the sketchpad which was still flipped open to the flowers. Fili nodded, and the boy smiled. “You’re really good. Are you an artist?”

“I keep trying to be,” Fili said, “but it’s not easy. People have more important things to spend their money on these days.”

“That’s what Mama and Papa say. They told me they’re lucky because they have a rep…repu…”

“Reputation?”

“Yeah, reputation. It means people know them, and know how good they are, so there is always work for them. Maybe you need a reputation, too.”

Fili’s blue eyes met the guileless brown eyes squarely. “I expect I do. Do you have any ideas how I can get one?”

“I think you just need the right thing to draw. Papa said he and Mama stopped playing vaudeville and started doing real plays, and that was what it took. Keep looking; I bet you find it soon.” Kili grinned as he handed the pad back to Fili. “Maybe you can draw me sometime! I could be your reputation.”

“Could be. Would you like me to draw you?”

“Uh-huh…but not today. I have to go home now. It’s Mama and Papa’s day off, and we’re going out for supper tonight. Some fancy place where I’ll have to wear a tie and everything.” The lower lip came out, and Fili bit his own to keep from laughing.

“Being a proper gentleman is hard sometimes. But you’ll have a good time. You should hurry home so they don’t worry about you.”

“Oh, it’s not far, over that way,” Kili said, pointing vaguely north. “Do you come to the park a lot?”

“Most days, I guess.” Anything to get out of his dingy flat. “Especially now that the snow is pretty much gone.”

“I’ll see you again, most likely.” Kili slipped off the bench, gathered up his box, and stood with his hand out. “It was very nice to meet you, Philip Oakes.”

“And you, Kilian Vivirson,” Fili nodded, shaking the small hand.

Kili started to walk away, then turned back with a shy smile. “Would you do something for me, Fili?” he asked. There was a haunting quality in the boy’s gaze, old and young at the same time, as if the man he would become was superimposed for an instant on the boy he was.

“If I can, sure.” 

“Would…would you wait for me to grow up? I’ll go as fast as I can, I promise.” Without waiting for an answer the boy ran off, leaving Fili slack jawed with shock. Only the wind picking up again snapped him out of it. He closed his pad, shoved it in the capacious pocket of his coat, and wended his way home, a frown between his eyes. _I’ll go as fast as I can…_

Lost in his own thoughts, he didn’t notice Mr. Masters standing by his front door until the harsh voice rasped out, “The rent, Oakes. Due today.” Fili didn’t answer, just unlocked his door and shut it quickly, ignoring the pounding behind him. Crossing to his hiding place under a loose floorboard, he pulled out his tiny pile of cash, counting it carefully. There was enough, with a couple dollars extra. He could manage food for a few days if he didn’t eat much. He stuck the extra in his pocket, opened the door and thrust the wad into the hand that was raised for another whack. “Is it all here?” the big man asked, pawing through the worn bills.

“Count it and see, or have you forgotten how?” Fili snapped. “How do you fill up that stomach of yours, anyway? I didn’t think there was that much food in the whole city. Or is it all hot air?” Normally he just paid his rent and didn’t antagonize the man, but right now he was too tired to care. “You got my receipt?”

Masters grubbed in his pocket, pulling out a slip of paper and tossing it on the floor between them. “Don’t get smart with me, ya bum. I could rent this place five times over for more than you pay. Remember that,” the man spat, hauling his bulk down the narrow stairs. Fili watched him leave, then stooped to pick the receipt up from the floor. The bastard might try to toss him into the street the next month, but for right now, he was legal and could prove it. 

He relocked the door, tucked the receipt safely away, and pulled out some bread and cheese that weren’t too stale. Tomorrow he’d sell something, he knew it. Get a wash on those flowers tonight, touch up that other flower piece, and go to the GalleRi first thing.

He worked furiously for a couple of hours, careful to keep crumbs off his paper, and laid the pieces out to dry, weighting the corners so they didn’t crinkle too much. He leaned back in his chair and closed dry eyes for a moment. An image sprang behind them of a small face with huge eyes and a riot of curls, and the shy voice asking, “Would you wait for me to grow up?”

His eyes popped open, and almost without thought he picked up his drawing pencil again. He found a blank page in his larger sketchpad and lines began to appear, each one confidently placed, though he would have sworn later that his brain was not guiding the hand that drew them. Kili’s face emerged from the sheet, with the young/old expression caught and distilled for all time. It was very late by the time he finished, and he marveled at his own handiwork. This…this was something he’d never done before. The likeness wasn’t perfect, but that didn’t matter. What mattered was the soul that reached out from the paper and spoke to his own. 

His personal tastes had been considered odd at best and damnable at worst back home (another reason he’d left Ohio and headed for the anonymity of New York), but they had never run to children. There was nothing inappropriate in his admiration of Kili. It might have been the way the boy seemed to be part of a simpler time; or it might just have been the innocence of youth that he felt had abandoned him long ago. Whatever it was, this portrait was something special; he could feel it. Maybe Kili had been right--perhaps he would be Fili’s reputation.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and stood, every joint creaking. He needed some sleep if he was going to present himself at the gallery tomorrow. He stripped down to his underwear and shut off the light, huddling under the patchwork quilt that was the one quality item he owned. He’d found it in a second hand shop when he’d actually had some extra cash, and its bright colors and solid construction had gone with him from one lodging place to another, carefully mended and tended. It, like Kili, was a throwback to another time and place, security in an ever-shifting world. He fluffed the lumpy pillow the best he could, and dropped into a dreamless sleep. Morning would come soon enough, and with it another chance. As long as there was another chance waiting, he’d keep chasing it.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili has a good day.

“Excellent, as always, Fili. The light wash of color on the rose is perfect, and the crocus against the bare trees, lovely contrast there. I can give you twenty…five dollars. For both of them.” There was a soft snort behind Ori, but the youngest Riordan didn’t turn around. “And I can hear you back there, Dori. I’ll sell them, I always do. People like flower paintings. Do we have a deal?” he asked Fili, one finger pushing oversized glasses up an equally oversized nose.

“Done.” It was more than he thought he’d get, and it would keep body and soul together for a bit longer. And maybe he could replace some of his dwindling paints. “Anything else you might like? I’ve got a nice study of the bridge in there.”

“The new one or the old one? Everyone is doing the new one.” A glance at Fili’s face was all the answer Ori needed, and he paged through the rest of the scant portfolio. “I think that might be all we can take right now…wait, what’s this? Dori, come take a look.” 

Dori took a pair of steel-rimmed pince-nez from his breast pocket and gazed over his brother’s shoulder. “Who’s this?”

“A kid I met in the park yesterday. What do you think?”

“I’m wondering where you’ve been hiding this kind of work,” Dori murmured, taking the portrait from the portfolio and laying it gently on a table. “The eyes are extraordinary—it’s like they’re looking through the ages.” He straightened with a _hrumph_ and tapped the edge of his spectacles against the paper before putting them back into his pocket. “Can you do more like this?”

 _I didn’t know I could do this one._ “Sure.”

“Sixty-five for all three pieces, and we get first refusal on any others like this one. Deal?”

Fili scrubbed his palm against his pants before clasping Dori’s outstretched one. “Deal.” His voice didn’t betray him, even a little, but inside he was doing backflips. He hadn’t seen that kind of money all at one time in…well, ever. “I hate to ask but…would it be possible to have at least part of that in cash? I know you’ve got books to keep and all, but it might take me a day or two to get to the bank.” He’d had a tiny savings account ever since he came to New York for the express purpose of being able to cash checks as needed, but he hated going there; he always felt like the tellers looked down on his shabby clothes and too-long hair.

Ori looked at his older brother, who nodded. “I think we can manage it,” Dori said with a sympathetic smile. “I can pull it out of petty cash and take a check to the bank later to replace it. Will twenty-five do it?” 

Fili nodded, and Dori walked to the back of the shop. There was the sound of a metal door opening and closing, and he came back out with a check and a handful of bills. “Take this up to First National on 48th, they know me there and they won’t give you any trouble about cashing it. If you don’t want to go right now, at least get it someplace safe—I’ve heard too many stories of folks getting robbed lately. And we want more of those portraits.”

“Promise. And thank you. I’ll be back soon.”

Fili tucked the money and the check in a secure inside pocket and left the gallery. The sun was out full today, and he worked up a little bit of a sweat with the fast clip back to his flat. Cash safely secured, he debated for a moment, then sighed. He might as well bite the bullet and take the check to the bank right now. He had the feeling that Dori might be a soft touch when it came to starving artists, but if his orders weren’t obeyed, he’d finish you and no one would find the body. He brushed his hair and shook out his jacket in an effort to look a bit more respectable. The worst that could happen was they’d throw him out on his ear.

He was walking to the bank and cursing already tired feet when he heard a familiar voice call out: “Oi, lad, need a lift?” A cab was pulling up to the curb next to him, and a genial face framed by a drooping mustache grinned out at him. Fili still found it hard to believe that Bofur and his brother Bombur actually came from the same family—apart from the physical dissimilarity, the cook never seemed to speak, and the cabbie never seemed to shut up.

“As a matter of fact, I do.” Fili loped over and let himself into the front seat next to the cabbie, in violation of normal cab etiquette. “Can you take me up to First National? And I can even pay for it this time.” Fili asked once how Bofur explained away the occasional free ride he gifted to Fili, and the cabbie just grinned and said, “Irish charm, me bucko; it gets ‘em every time.” Fili had the feeling that Bofur could tell the Pope to go to hell, and His Holiness would look forward to the trip.

“A rich relative die and leave you a fortune, did they?” Bofur asked as they pulled away from the curb.

“Next best thing—I sold some work to the GalleRi, and I’ve got a check burning a hole in my pocket.”

“Well, that’s grand news! And high time some good luck came your way. Hey, watch where you’re goin’, ya pillock!” the cabbie shouted at a pedestrian who narrowly avoided getting clipped crossing against the light. “Death wish, that one. So what did you sell? It must’ve been good if it made old Riordan loosen up the purse strings.”

“I did a portrait of a kid in the park. I had to draw him, and they liked it. Forty dollars with a promise of more if I can do it again.” Fili paused, then added in a quiet voice, “It was the damnedest thing, Bofur—he looked and sounded like he stepped out of another time. I’d say he had really old-fashioned parents, but he said they’re actors, so that’s probably not it. He…something about him reminded me of me as a kid, what I used to be like. What I’ve lost along the way.” He huffed out a self-conscious laugh. “Yeah, I know how crazy that sounds, but I don’t have another way to explain it. But he made me feel like anything was possible, and I haven’t felt like that for a long time.”

“Sounds like you were meant to run into each other.”

“Maybe. But it’d be my luck never to see him again, so I’d better enjoy this win while I can.” He took the check from him pocket, making sure it hadn’t been a mirage after all. 

“Well, here’s hopin’ it’s the first of many for you. D’you want me to wait and give you a lift back?” Bofur asked as he deftly maneuvered into a spot near the front of the bank.

“Do you mind? I shouldn’t be long, and I’d feel safer riding than walking with cash in my pocket.”

“Not to worry, Fili—me ‘n Mabel here will take good care of you,” Bofur assured him, patting the plumber’s wrench on the seat between them. Fili had seen him use it once against a fool who thought the cabbie was an easy mark. The murderous fire in the normally tranquil brown eyes had been a frightening thing to behold, and the man was lucky enough to live to regret it. “I’ll just work on my lunch.”

It was quiet at the bank that day. A tall willowy brunet whose nametag read Lindir stood behind the desk, and Fili handed in the check without a word. He tried not to take offence at the teller’s scrutiny of the check, knowing full well how much bad paper floated around these days. Lindir finally looked up and gave him a small smile. “Mr. Riordan is one of our most valued customers. We’re always happy to help one of his clients. How would you like this, Mr. Oakes?”

Fili wanted badly to ask for all of it in singles, just to have the joy of feeling that much cash in his hands. But he reined himself in. “I think fifteen in fives and ones should be fine, and I’d like to start a savings account with the rest.” It would be safer there than sitting in his pocket, and the idea of that much money in his flat would keep him awake all night. Fifteen would be more than enough for what he needed right now. 

“Certainly, sir.” Lindir handed him the necessary paperwork, chatting lightly the entire time, finished the transaction, stamped the passbook, and passed it and the cash back to Fili. “There you go, sir. Have a good day, and welcome to First National.”

Fili smiled and nodded, tucking everything away in the inside pocket. Someone like Rockefeller could probably spend fifteen dollars on a haircut and never think twice about it. For him, this meant supplies, food, and maybe even some ‘new’ clothes at the second hand place up the street from his flat. They might even have a pair of shoes, and he could give the ones he was wearing a decent burial. The world was full of possibilities when you had some cash in your pocket, and could be so full of hopelessness when you didn’t.

Bofur was chuckling, a small scrap of paper in his hand, when Fili slid back into the cab’s front seat. “Oh, that Miriam, she’ll be the death of me yet. She puts a note in with my lunch every day,” he explained to Fili’s unspoken query. “Sometimes it’s a joke, sometimes it’s a reminder, and sometimes it’s…other things.”

“Let me guess—this was one of the ‘other things’. What did she say?”

Bofur snatched the note out of the reach of Fili’s playful feint. “Hands off, you! You’re not old enough to be readin’ it, anyway.” His eyes danced as he slid the note into his pocket. “Good thing Father Grey is forgivin’ of that sort of thing between a man and his wife, or I’m pretty sure we’d be headin’ straight for hell.”

“But you’d be going there hand in hand, so it wouldn’t be so bad.”

“True enough, lad, true enough. And speaking of my Miriam, she’s gone and done it again,” he sighed. “I keep tellin’ her I’m tryin’ to cut down a bit, lose some of this paunch, and she keeps packin’ me too much food. Care to help me out here? Hate to see it go to waste.”

He held out half of a thick sandwich, and Fili accepted with a smile. Bofur’s story of wanting to lose weight was a polite fiction, and they both knew it, but pride was preserved on both sides. Miriam’s homemade bread was a meal by itself, and as much as he wanted to gobble it down, he made himself eat slowly, enjoying the sharp cheese and savory roast beef, liberally spread with a sweet spicy mustard. This was chased down by a chewy homemade oatmeal cookie heavy with raisins and spice. Money in his pocket, good food in his stomach, and a friend to share his new found joy with—life didn’t get a lot better than this.

“So where to, lad? Back home, or off shopping?” Bofur asked as he balled up the wrappings and stuffed them back into the paper bag that had contained his lunch. He turned the meter back on and darted into traffic, ignoring an irate horn blaring behind him.

“Back home, I think – I have to make a list, or I’ll blow everything on art supplies,” Fili said, brushing crumbs off his mustache and beard. “And I’ve taken up enough of your time today as it is.”

“Well, you’re payin’ for the time, so it’s yours to use as you see fit. And it’s good to see you smilin’ again, Fili; it’s been too long.” Bofur spent the rest of the ride relating a story about one of Bombur’s numerous offspring that had Fili nearly choking with laughter. There was a spot a few doors down from his building, and Fili asked to be let out there, settling up the bill for the ride. He tried to add a tip, but Bofur flatly refused: “Put it toward a good dinner tonight. When you don’t look like a stiff wind’ll blow you away, then you can tip, and not before.”

Fili frowned, but put the money back in his pocket. “You know I actually do have a mother already, right?” he muttered as he got out. Bofur just grinned and waved as he pulled away from the curb, leaving him shaking his head. His blood family might have cut him off for the most part, but the family he’d made here had become just as precious to him. He couldn’t imagine life in this concrete and steel canyon without them.

He spent some time going through his supplies (it might have been easier making a list of what he didn’t need, he thought), paring it down to what was truly necessary, and not just what he wanted. He changed out of his ‘good’ shirt (the least worn of the three he owned, and reserved for occasions like visiting the GalleRi), grabbed his canvas shopping bag and let himself out into the sunshine again.

He returned a couple hours later, laden with parcels, much lighter of pocket and of heart. Paints, a small set of oil pastels that had been at a ridiculously good price, a couple of good brushes, three new pencils, and a pad of heavy paper joined the rest of the supplies in the work area in the corner. He carefully stacked the groceries in the tiny kitchenette; canned fruit and vegetables, ground coffee, dried beans and rice that could be cooked over the small hot plate, a jar of peanut butter, and a couple of fresh apples and a bar of chocolate just because he could. He eased shoes off sore feet, stretched out onto the bed, and took his time reducing one of the apples down to picked-clean core. He tossed it toward the old pickle tub he used as a trash basket, and it bounced off the rim before making a satisfying plop inside. Stomach blessedly content, he dozed, and if he had dreams they were pleasant but unremarkable ones.

\-----

The afternoon sun was fading when he arrived at Bombur’s café. “Well, if it isn’t the next Rembrandt!” boomed Bombur’s wife from behind the register. Vanna was all dark auburn hair and generous proportions, as genial as her husband. He once remarked that he didn’t need to talk – she did more than enough for both of them.

“News travels fast. Let me guess—Bofur stopped by?”

She nodded, smiling. “Congratulations. Not sure if you’re still interested in helping out here, now that you’re on your way to fame and fortune, but we could really use someone for a couple of days—Willa sprained her ankle and Denys cut his hand pretty bad, can’t put it in hot water for a bit. Lunch, supper, and your share of tips for the next two days if you want them.”

“You got yourself a kitchen skivvy, Vanna.” Any meals he didn’t have to pay for were good ones, and the newly purchased groceries would last longer.

“Good boy. Pitch in wherever they tell you to, and thanks.” Vanna turned from him to greet a couple just coming in, and Fili headed for the kitchen, shucking out of his coat and rolling up his sleeves on the way. He got to work on the piles of dishes, dumped trash, cleaned and generally made himself useful for the next couple of hours. Supper was a heaping plate of Bombur’s best goulash and what seemed like half a loaf of bread and butter, washed down with coffee. The caffeine and carbs propelled him through the rest of the shift, and the kitchen was shining when he took off his apron and tossed it in the laundry bin.

Bifur, who worked the grill, clapped him on the back with a grunt and nod. The scar from the head injury he’d taken in Château-Thierry was partly covered by a shock of white hair standing out against the black. Raised eyebrows asked a question, and Fili answered, “Thanks, Bif, yeah, I’ll be back tomorrow.” The older man smiled and waved on the way out the door. Fili followed soon after, collar turned up against a chill wind. He was glad it was only a couple of blocks back to his building--he was dead on his feet. But it was a good tired; he’d had a productive day, unlike many a night when he’d exhausted himself with little or nothing to show for it. 

His last thought before falling asleep was of little Kili. He was starting to think of the boy as a good omen, and he hoped he saw him again. Today felt like a new start for him, and he wanted a chance to thank him, even if Kili didn’t understand. Tired blue eyes closed and soft snores soon joined the night noises that filtered through the cracked-open window.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes: John D. Rockefeller was an American multi-millionaire (back when being a multi-millionaire really meant something), co-founder of Standard Oil, cut-throat businessman, and in later life a noted philanthropist. "Bad paper" can refer to forged checks or counterfeit money, both of which made numerous appearances during the Depression. To put the amount of money Fili gets for his work into perspective, in 1935 New York, Lower East Side, a family of four could live fairly well on $1300 a year.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili makes a shocking discovery, and comforts a friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to be on the safe side -- possible trigger warning for mention of fire. Nothing graphic, but just a heads up. Also some angst this chapter.

Morning sun strafed Fili’s eyes and brought him to groaning consciousness. He scrubbed his hands through his hair and over his face, slapping his cheeks a couple of times to get the blood circulating. He stripped and shuffled into the shower, letting the tepid water clear out the last of the cobwebs. Two cups of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal later, he felt human enough to face the world. He bundled up his laundry to take downstairs to Mrs. McGinnis, reminding himself to ask her to go easy on the starch this time. His ‘good’ shirt could just about have stood up by itself, and he thought he’d open an artery on the collar. He counted up his tips and what he had left from yesterday’s shopping spree, and pulled five more dollars from his cache under the floor board. He checked the battle-scarred clock on the wall--he’d have just enough time before his shift at the café to see what sartorial delights the second-hand store had to offer.

His luck held—he was able to find two shirts, one almost new, and a pair of corduroys that looked like they would last a good while. He also scored a pair of boots, scuffed but nothing a good blacking and polish wouldn’t cure, and certainly better than the lace-ups he was wearing. The boots had the added benefit of hiding his socks, so if he wore mismatched ones due to wear and tear, no one would notice. He splurged on a couple pairs of new boxers at the mercantile, and carried a laden bag back to his flat. He had to run to make it to the café on time, but he was smiling when he sailed through the back door. He wolfed down his lunch sandwich and pickle, gulped down his coffee, and set to work with a will.

It was crowded for a week night, one batch of dishes no sooner done than it was replaced by an even taller stack. Bifur’s scarred hands worked the grill, and his assistant, one of Bombur’s children, called out the orders to the waitstaff as they came up. The cook himself supervised an army of pots, pans, and cutlery, chopping and slicing and working his own brand of magic. Fili’s good mood lasted through the organized chaos, even when he was sure his hands were going to permanently prune from the hot dish water. The time sped by, and the staff exchanged good natured banter about the Dodgers’ chances against their perennial rivals the Giants for the new baseball season. 

His hands were given a break during the post-lunch/pre-dinner lull, and he sat down to his bowl of beef stew with a sigh of relief. He didn’t know what Bombur put in it—his recipes were closely guarded, and he wasn’t even sure if Vanna knew all of them—but he’d never tasted anything like it. He ate slowly, savoring each bite as he skimmed the newspaper a customer had left behind. He was about to set it aside when a headline in the arts section caught his eye: MIRKWOOD PLAYHOUSE TO OPEN ON OLD EREBOR SITE. 

Erebor…wasn’t that where Kili said his parents were working? Fili folded the page and read the article. Impresario Thranduil Greenleaf planned a grand new theatre at the site of the Erebor, which was lost to a catastrophic fire a dozen years previously. “We intend for this new theatre to be a tribute to the grace and beauty that was embodied in its predecessor, and to the memory of the people who perished in the blaze.”

Fili’s brow furrowed in confusion. Fire? Twelve years ago? What was going on? How could Kili’s parents have been working there now? Once again he was assailed by the time slip that seemed to be going on with the boy. Or was Kili making up stories to make his own life more exciting?

Bombur’s voice rang out: “All hands on deck!” signaling the end of his break. He scraped the rest of the gravy from his bowl, brought it over to the sink, and got ready for another onslaught of crockery. He concentrated on his work for the rest of the shift, cleaning and scrubbing with more zeal than necessary to keep his mind occupied and not chewing on the mystery. He might not be able to answer all of his questions, but he knew just where to go for some of them in the morning.

\-----

“Fili! I haven’t seen you for a bit; how have you been?” Despite the need to whisper, the delight in Bilbo Baggins’ voice came across loud and clear. The library was one of the few places Fili could go to get warm in the winter that didn’t cost him anything, and Bilbo was one of the few librarians that didn’t treat him like a vagrant. Over time they had become friends.

“Doing all right, Mr. B…Bilbo.” Fili had to catch himself almost every time—the librarian wasn’t that much older than himself, but he’d never quite lost his awe of the quiet man who seemed to know something about everything.

“That’s better. It’s bad enough I found my first gray hair last week; don’t make me feel even older than I already do. Anything I can help you with today?”

“I hope so. I read an article in the paper yesterday about a new theatre that’s going to be built over on 44th Street.”

“I read that, too—where the old Erebor used to be. What’s your interest? Thinking of giving up art and going into architecture?”

“I wondered if you knew what happened to the other theatre. The paper said something about a fire.”

Bilbo nodded. “I was still in college when it happened, but I remember it. I’d been there a few times over the years. It was such a beautiful place, all velvet and gold and you felt like you should wear your Sunday best just to walk in the door. It was probably faulty wiring that caused it, but it was so badly burned it was hard to tell. I think every paper had a different story, but it was a horrible thing however it happened.” Hazel eyes squinted in thought. “That would have been in ’23 or ’24, September I think. Want me to see what we’ve got in the archives?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, that would be great.”

“While I’m doing that, look in the card file under R.T. Brown. He’s a local historian; I’m pretty sure he wrote a book about the place.” Bilbo disappeared into the mysteries of the reference section, and Fili searched the card file as instructed. It took him a few minutes to locate the correct section of the library—as far as he was concerned, the Dewey Decimal System could have been hieroglyphics for all the sense it made to him. How Bilbo dealt with it day after day, and didn’t tear out his hair in frustration, was something he would never understand.

He found the book Bilbo had mentioned, a slim volume that had been published a year or two before the theatre’s demise. There was little information on acts that had performed there, but there were pictures of the place. Even from those black and white, low-quality photos, he could see that the Erebor was as lush as Bilbo had claimed. As preposterous as it seemed—how could Kili know anything about a theatre that had been destroyed before he was born?--Fili could imagine him looking around with wide eyes at the gilt and crystal, running his hands over the softness of the curtains, perhaps being allowed to sit backstage and watch his parents from the wings during a matinee. 

He was so lost in these musings that he didn’t notice Bilbo’s return until a stack of newspapers hit the table. “I’ve got the _Times_ , the _Sun_ , the _Tribune_ and the _Herald_. And I was right about the date; it was a week or so before my birthday. Are you looking for anything in particular?”

“I’ll know it when I see it.” Bilbo smiled and left him to his research. Fili pulled the first paper off the stack and located the article. The blaze had broken out during a performance of _The Importance of Being Earnest,_ and the theatre was engulfed in a matter of minutes—only the fast work of New York’s Bravest kept it from taking out the buildings around it. Dozens were injured, most from smoke inhalation or the blind panic to get out of the building, and six more died. 

Each of the articles had its own theory as to the cause—wiring, arson, insurance fraud, even revenge against the theatre’s owner, but aside from that the stories pretty much all said the same thing. It wasn’t until he got to the _Times’_ article that details of those who perished were revealed: Eddie Mulcahy, firefighter; Mary Jean Scott, theatre usher; Maria Amato and Joseph Svenson, audience members, and… “Oh, no,” Fili breathed, his heart thudding to the soles of his feet. 

The words swam in front of his eyes, and the only thing to cut through the roaring in his ears was Bilbo’s quiet voice asking, “Fili, are you feeling all right?”

He swiped a hand over his eyes, forced a deep breath into his lungs, and nodded. “Can you put this stuff away, please? I…I have to get to work,” He pushed his chair back and wobbled to his feet, shaking the librarian’s gentle hand off his arm. He needed air, now. Mumbling an apology, he bolted out of the reading room, oblivious to the questioning looks of the other patrons, and heedless of the confusion radiating from his friend. 

He wandered for a while, and finally wended his way to Bombur’s, picking at the provided lunch. If the job had been for anyone else, he’d have blown it off, but Bombur and Vanna were counting on him, and he’d made a promise. He worked like an automaton that night, efficient but quiet, and his sleep was restless, punctuated by flames and screaming. 

\-----

There was a figure sitting on the park bench the next morning, dark head bowed and shoulders hunched. A black band encircled the upper arm of his coat, and the face that looked up at his was tear-streaked and pale. It was also older--Kili had left childhood behind in the space of a few days. The baby soft contours were giving way to the beginning planes of young adulthood, and the only thing that surprised Fili was the fact that it didn’t really surprise him at all. “Hey,” was all he said, lowering himself onto the bench next to Kili.

There was a mumbled response that might have been ‘hello’, and Fili pressed on. “I heard about your parents. I expect by now you’re probably sick of hearing this, but I am so very sorry.”

“Me, too,” came the choked reply. A hand came up and dashed welling tears away. A deep breath, another, then, “I’m glad you came.” 

“We can talk about it if you want. All I know is what I read in the paper.”

For a long moment, Fili didn’t think he was going to get a response, then the words started. “They told me Mama and Papa wouldn’t leave when the fire started. They were doing everything they could to make sure people didn’t get scared. Papa carried out a couple ladies who fainted, and the fireman said he kept going back in, bringing more people out every time. Mama was getting people to the exits—she wouldn’t leave as long as Papa was there. And the smoke got too thick and they couldn’t find their way out. Everybody’s telling me they were heroes, and I guess they were. Even Mayor and Mrs. Hylan sent a telegram, said I should be proud of them.” 

‘Red Mike’ Hylan, Fili’s memory supplied. Who had lost the mayoral nomination to James J. Walker…in 1925. This thought flitted across his brain and was forgotten as Kili’s soft voice shattered against the hard edge of a sob. “But I don’t want them to be heroes. I want them to be here.” 

Without a word or a second thought, Fili’s arms went around Kili’s shoulders and pulled him close. Kili stiffened for an instant, then he buried his face in the man’s shoulder, silent tears shaking them both. “Let it out,” Fili whispered, shooting a poisonous glare at a passing matron who dared to look disapprovingly at them. “It’s all right; I’m here. Let it out.”

They spent long minutes like this, until the storm began to abate. “Sorry ‘bout your coat,” Kili mumbled when he disengaged, reaching into his pocket for a handkerchief.

“It’s had a lot worse on it, believe me.” He waited for Kili to finish getting himself together, then asked, “So what happens now? Do you have somewhere to go?”

“I want to stay with Auntie Bella, but they said I can’t because she’s not really my aunt. She called my uncle Thorin, Mama’s brother, and he’s taking me home with him after the funeral tomorrow. He’s supposed to be coming in on the train tonight. I only met him once when I was real little. What if I don’t like him? What if he doesn’t like me?” Kili’s hands worried the edges of the damp handkerchief. “Why can’t I be old enough so no one can tell me what to do?”

A reluctant smile tugged at the corners of Fili’s mouth. “Got news for you—people still tell you what to do even when you’re grown up. Give your uncle a chance. I bet he’s hurting right now, too. And he’s probably going to be by himself on that train, no one to talk to about it. You’ve got your Auntie Bella, and your friends…and you’ve got me.”

“I didn’t think about that,” Kili admitted. “What should I say to him when he gets here?”

“I think you’ll know when the time comes. Listen to your heart.”

“Okay. D’you mind if I sit here with you for a while? There’s just too many people at home.”

“As long as you want to. It’s the least I can do for the guy that helped me make a fortune this week,” Fili said. At the clear question marks in Kili’s eyes, Fili related the story of the portrait and its sale, and smiled as Kili’s eyes lit up, saw the sorrow fade if only for a little while. “So okay, maybe it wasn’t a fortune, but it seemed like it to me, and I have you to thank for it.”

“Wish I could see the picture. Think you could draw one for me, now?”

“I can try.” His sketchpad and pencil were still in the pocket of his coat; he pulled them out, found a clean sheet, and began. The sketch was rough—there was no time for real shading or detail, but he watched out of the corner of his eye as Kili’s smile grew with each stroke of the pencil. Finally he finished, signed it with a flourish, and tore the sheet carefully from the pad, handing it to the boy. “Take this with you when you go with your uncle, and look after it. Who knows, it might be worth something one day.”

“It’s worth something right now. Thank you.” The smile was fading as Kili rose from the bench. Fili realized with a shock that their eyes were almost level now. “I have to go back now. Auntie Bella will need me.” Despite the grief seeping back into the brown eyes, Kili’s shoulders were straight and his gaze met Fili’s full on. 

“Yes, she will. And a man takes care of his family. Your mama and papa would be very proud of you now. Get on home, and take care of yourself, too.”

Kili rolled the picture into a cylinder, taking care not to crush it. “I don’t know when I’ll be back,” he said, and a different kind of sadness crept into the brown eyes. 

“Something tells me we’ll see each other sooner than either of us thinks.” 

“I hope so. Like I said, I’m going as fast as I can.” With that Kili turned and headed off across the park, a young man on a mission. Fili watched him disappear in the distance and shook his head. _Three years in as many days—whoever first said ‘time flies’ had no idea…_ Purposeful steps took him back to his flat – the light was good today, and he had work to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes: John Francis 'Red Mike' Hylan was the mayor of New York 1918-1925, ousted by the flamboyant James J. 'Beau James' Walker (yes, I think everyone had a nickname back then. 
> 
> The Dodgers began their career in Brooklyn, and had a long and storied rivalry with the New York Giants. Both teams went to California in the 1950s--the Dodgers to Los Angeles and the Giants to San Francisco. 
> 
> Of the mentioned newspapers, only the Times is still in business as a separate entity; the others either merged (Herald-Tribune) and later went under or were bought out, or just folded over time. 
> 
> And welcome to the wonderful world of research pre-internet! The Dewey Decimal System was the cataloging system of libraries in the US until at least the 1970s, when it was replaced by the Library of Congress system (which to this DAY I still don't understand...) And before things like computers and even microfiche/microfilm, you used the card catalog to find what you needed, and scoured newspaper archives. A good librarian knew where to find everything.
> 
> If I've missed anything, feel free to ask, I'll be happy to explain!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're good at what you do, and you have a dark-haired angel riding your shoulder, people sit up and take notice....

“Hey, Fili, got a message for you!” Gimli’s voice nearly shook the door in its frame. He worked for his father and uncle at the drugstore kitty corner across the street. The pay phone there was the main means of communication for Masters’ tenants—the old tightwad wasn’t about to put in a communal phone; he felt he’d been generous enough installing a hot water heater. Gimli had appointed himself as their messenger service, collecting and relaying as needed. 

It had been nearly a month since his last encounter with Kili. The days were getting warmer, and the proverbial April showers played hell with the light more often than he’d have liked. Right now he was struggling to tune out the tinny plink-plink of water from the skylight into the pot on the floor. Newspapers protected the scarred floorboards, although a bit of water damage might have been an improvement. The static-laced music from his second-hand radio did little to mask the irritating sound, and Fili fully understood why dripping water was such an effective means of torture back in the day.

Fili had gone to the park nearly every day hoping to see Kili, but ‘their’ bench had remained vacant. Whatever power had brought his young muse into his life might have seen fit to take him away again. It had not stolen the gift of his inspiration, however, and the days had flown by in a flurry of creativity. Pencil sketches, watercolor pieces, and some interesting experiments with the new set of pastels littered the flat. Some he was happy with, some he wasn’t, but the crowning achievement of the burst was a meticulously detailed pencil piece of Kili, black and white with suggestions of color here and there to highlight. It captured the smile that had emerged for a few moments, but didn’t mask the grief that had clouded the expressive eyes. 

“Who’d be calling me?” Fili wondered aloud as he opened the door for the husky teen.

“Message was to call the gallery when you get a chance. He didn’t say which gallery, though.” 

“That’s okay, I know which one. Did he leave a number? They’re probably in the phone book if he didn’t.”

“Yup; here you go.” Gimli tore the sheet loose from the spiral pad and handed it over. 

Fili pocketed the scrap. “I’ll be down to give them a call in a bit. Thanks for the message. How many others do you have to deliver?” 

“I think I’ve got something for pretty much everybody here,” Gimli said, flipping through the pad. “A girlfriend, a boyfriend, maybe a boss, and I’m pretty sure at least a couple of bookies. I tell ya, the things I know or could guess about who’s doing what with who would curl my mother’s hair if she knew.”

“Maybe best not to tell her, then. It sounds like you could start a pretty profitable blackmail business,” he said as he fished a nickel out of his pocket, handing it to Gimli.

“I’ll settle for some of Mrs. Brandybuck’s shortbread,” Gimli laughed, pocketing the coin.

“Nice that you have your priorities straight. Thanks again.” Gimli gave him a two-fingered salute as he shut the door, and he took a few deep breaths to try to calm the butterflies that had erupted in his stomach. He debated whether he should skip the call and just go straight to the GalleRi instead. No, that would look too eager…even though he _was_ eager. He checked his pocket for coins, but the nickel he’d given Gimli was all the change he had. However, there was a crumpled dollar bill that he could get changed at the drug store. He got a drink of water straight from the tap to counteract a sudden case of nerve-induced cotton mouth, checked for his key, and headed downstairs, heart hammering against his ribs.

The phone rang three times before Ori’s voice answered, “Thank you for calling the GalleRi; how can we serve your artistic needs today?”

Fili bit back a laugh. “Well, you can start by telling me why you left me a message to call. This has got to be the first time that’s ever happened.”

“Fili, you’ll never guess who was here!” The excitement in Ori’s voice sizzled down the phone line.

“I dunno.” Fili threw out the most unlikely name he could think of. “Babe Ruth?”

“Oh, please, as if we’d let him in the door,” Ori sneered—the Riordans were Giants fans one and all, with no use for the Bambino or any other Yankee. “No, much better—Galadriel Gold was here.”

“ _The_ Galadriel Gold?” Fili asked after a moment of stunned silence. 

“Like there’s more than one? Yes, _the_ Galadriel Gold, large as life and even more beautiful than she is on stage, and honestly I didn’t believe that was possible.”

“What was she doing there?” _And what does that have to do with me?_

“Well, I like that! Why shouldn’t she come to one of the best galleries in the city? Seriously, though, she came because someone she knows saw your pencil piece of the boy and suggested she come take a look. And not only did she buy it, she bought the two flower pieces, too! And she left her card and asked to be notified if more of your work became available. _Please,_ tell me you have some more stuff.”

“All three pieces?” Fili managed after he found his voice again. He sank down on the seat in the booth, legs unable to hold him up any longer. “Galadriel Gold bought all three of my pieces?”

“Yes, Fili. And I probably shouldn’t have told you because now your asking price is going to go over the moon, but this is too exciting. So, do you have more?”

An impatient hand rapped on the door of the booth, and Fili glanced up to see a burly man in dockworker coveralls glaring at him. He held up a conciliatory hand to indicate he’d be done soon, and said, “I have to get off here, Ori, someone else needs the phone. But yes, I have some more stuff.” 

“We close early on Thursday—can you come by about six?”

“Sounds good.”

“See you then.” 

Fili hung up the phone and willed himself to stand up. With an apologetic nod and a murmured, “Sorry” to the dockman, he left the drug store and wandered back out onto the sidewalk, his brain in a whirl. The rain had thinned to a light sprinkle, but somehow Fili didn’t care anymore. Galadriel Gold—the brightest light on the Great White Way for the past decade--had purchased his work. This wasn’t his life, he thought—somehow he’d wandered into a Busby Berkeley film, where the struggling hero is blessed by a guardian angel and fame and fortune are just around the corner. He was going to wake up any minute now and remember that the hero of such tales looked a lot more like Dick Powell—tall, dark and clean cut instead of short, scruffy and blond; lived in a suspiciously nice apartment instead of a third floor walkup; and his neighbor always looked like Ruby Keeler or Joan Blondell, not like one-eyed Mr. Thrain, who met everyone at the door with a Louisville Slugger in his hands, and wouldn’t hesitate to use it. It all seemed very unreal to him.

The indignant blare of a car horn was certainly real enough, and so was the insult hurled his way by the driver he’d stepped in front of. Yeah, he was awake, he finally decided with a laugh, and he had some decisions to make—which of his new pieces were going with him tomorrow? And could he squeeze in a couple more before tomorrow night? Only one way to find out—time to go back and get to work.

\-----

“Oh, I wish you’d been here, Fili—I thought Dori was going to have a stroke,” Ori said.

“Hey!” his brother yelled from behind the counter where he was totaling up the day’s receipts.

“Well, it’s true. He did everything except get out his best tea service, and if she’d stayed any longer he’d probably have done that, too.”

“I was being polite to a lady, and to a potentially important customer. At least I didn’t ask for her autograph, like someone I know.” Dori threw a pointed glance at the slender man hanging a framed piece on the wall. 

“Heat of the moment. And you’re just upset you didn’t have the nerve to do it,” Nori tweaked the alignment, flicked a bit of dust off a corner with a cloth, and stepped off the short ladder. 

“Is that an Estel?” Fili asked, taking a closer look at the painting.

“Yep; got it for a song at an estate sale over the weekend. The old doll didn’t have a clue what she had, and I wasn’t about to tell her. Don’t worry,” Nori said in answer to Fili’s frown. “She was dripping enough jewelry to restock Tiffany’s, all of it the real deal. I wasn’t taking unfair advantage—I do have standards, believe it or not.”

“Anyway, getting back to Miss Gold,” Ori redirected the conversation, “she saw that portrait and had to have it. And she said the flower pieces were perfect for her guest room. Has to be the easiest sale I’ve ever made.”

“I still don’t understand why she took such a shine to my work,” Fili wondered. “I mean, I’ve got as healthy an ego as anyone, but why me?” 

“She said the portrait reminded her of a boy she used to know years ago, the son of friends of hers.”

There it was again—the pull from the past. Fili took a deep breath to chase away the goose flesh forming on his arms, and nearly missed Ori’s next words. “Wait a minute—did you just say she wants to _meet me?_ ”

“I didn’t want to tell you that over the phone because I wanted to see your face. And I didn’t want you to have heart failure in the phone booth, it wouldn’t look good. Yes, she would like us to arrange a time for you to visit her, and she’d like to discuss a possible commission. Oh, dear, you’re not actually going to pass out, are you?”

“Oh, God, I just might…” Nori’s hip flask was pressed into his hand, and Fili took a swig without thinking. Bourbon, raw and sharp, burned down his throat and he fought for a moment to breathe. “Where did you find that stuff, in somebody’s carburetor?” he finally spluttered. 

“Close, but no cigar,” Nori said, grinning, and Fili remembered tales told of Nori’s exploits during Prohibition, stories his younger brother delighted in and his older brother wished would be forgotten. “Now, take a deep breath and get yourself together. We still haven’t seen what you’ve brought for us tonight.”

Fili opened the portfolio. It was considerably thicker than it had been on his last visit, and all three brothers looked over the choices. Some were rejected out of hand, and they debated others, but on one piece they were unanimous—the latest portrait Fili had done of his young friend. “He’s older in this one, or is this his brother?” Dori asked. 

“No, it’s still him, I just…imagined him a few years down the road.” How could he explain it to someone else when he couldn’t explain it to himself? The white lie was an easier option right now. 

“I like that hint of color in it. And the eyes—you got the eyes again. Good work. What about the others?” he asked his brothers.

In the end they settled on four pieces—the portrait, a small landscape in watercolor, a graceful iris in colored pencil and ink, and a bold piece in oil pastels that was all color and cheer, but without a definite form. “This is different for you, but I like it. A little bit of Klee’s influence there, I think, but more accessible,” Ori pronounced. Fili didn’t tell him that it was mostly a case of throwing colors together and seeing what worked best—the blues, greens, and purples felt right to him. But if Ori wanted to compare him to a modern master, far be it from him to disagree.

“One hundred twenty for the lot,” Dori offered after consulting with his brothers. Fili’s mouth opened and closed several times, but no words would come out. That much money would get him through the rest of spring and most of the summer. He could not have heard correctly.

“Uh, Dori, I think you broke him,” Nori’s amused voice cut through the fog. “Come on, Fili, it’s a more than fair price; don’t hold us for ransom here.”

_Say yes before they change their minds, you idiot!_ his few functioning brain cells screamed. “Deal,” he finally managed to force out, a grin nearly splitting his face in half, and resisted the urge to pinch himself to make sure he was actually awake.

Handshakes all round formalized the deal. “Excellent. We’ll call Miss Gold on Monday and let her know we have more of your work. That will give us time to get them matted and framed,” Dori said, handing over the check. Fili stared at it for a moment before folding it and sticking it in his pocket. Nope, it was real, not made of fairy dust, and the bold signature was most definitely Dori’s. “Now, when would be a good time for you to go see her?”

“Whatever works for her, I guess.” Reality chose that moment to throw a right hook in his direction. “But—clothes, I’m gonna need to get some decent clothes, and a haircut, and—and--oh hell, what am I even thinking? I can’t go see her!” Panic shook his voice and he could feel the blood draining from his face. Crap, he really was going to pass out…

He felt warm hands on either side of his face and looked up into calm brown eyes. “Fili, listen to me,” Ori’s voice was soothing, oil pouring over the tempest raging inside him. “It’s going to be all right. We’ll help you get ready, and it’s going to work out just fine. Remember, she asked to see you; you have the upper hand here. Come on, you can do this.”

Under the hypnotic effect of Ori’s voice, Fili felt his breathing slow down and deepen, and the fog crowding in at the edges of his vision dissipated. After a few moments, he smiled slightly and nodded. “I’m all right now, thanks. Just—this has been a lot to take in, you know?”

“Well, we have a vested interest in helping you make a good impression, remember. So buck up, you’re not alone. We’ll leave a message when we set up a day and time, and we’ll get you suited up and ready to do battle. You get yourself home now and get some food into you. I’ll bet you haven’t eaten all day. Sorry, sounding like a big brother,” Dori apologized with a self-conscious laugh. “Old habits and all.”

“That’s all right, I don’t mind. Thank you all, for everything, and I’ll be waiting to hear from you.” 

Fili caught the bus at the stop up the street from the gallery, too nervous about the check in his pocket to risk walking home. That was the big drawback to having money—he had something to actually lose. His fingers stayed in contact with the precious piece of paper until he was safely inside his flat. He tucked it under the floorboard inside his new savings passbook, making a mental note to close out his other account and take that money to First National in the morning. The idea of consolidating two accounts pulled a giddy chuckle from him. Who’d have thought it a month ago?

Walking up to Bombur’s did a lot to clear his head and help him organize his thoughts. It still didn’t seem quite real, but the initial terror had finally faded to a sense of excitement. He was going to meet Galadriel Gold, at her request, and wouldn’t Vanna scream when he told her! His stomach still clutched at the idea of all the spit and polish he’d need, but he scrubbed up pretty well when he put his mind to it. Miss Gold had a reputation as a down to earth sort, and she knew he was an artist; she wouldn’t be expecting the Arrow Shirt Man. It would be all right.

He fell asleep early that night with good food in his stomach, the rain finally stopped and the moon dancing in and out of the clouds. His radio was turned down low--it wouldn’t do to disturb the neighbors and have Masters come pounding on his door. The music was something quiet and classical he couldn’t place, and reception was surprisingly clearly for once. A tune from a time long past brought up a face from another time; he thought of Kili, wondered where he was and if he was happy. He wished he could share his good news with the boy who had made it possible, but something told him Kili already knew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes for this chapter (and I'm going to assume at least some of you are from somewhere other than the US, and don't have a clue about baseball):
> 
> George Herman 'Babe' Ruth-- AKA the Bambino, the Sultan of Swat, arguably the greatest baseball player ever, and the one of the first players to be inducted into the Hall of Fame. Flamboyant and larger than life, he was one of the rare people whose talent actually outstripped his ego.
> 
> Busby Berkeley--director of glorious musical numbers in the 30s and 40s, featuring shot-from-the-top cinematography with kaleidoscopic patterns created by the dancers. Look on youtube; his work will blow you away! Dick Powell was the star of several of these extravaganzas, a clean cut young man with a gorgeous tenor voice. He was often costarred with pixie-cute dancer Ruby Keeler and/or brash buxom blonde Joan Blondell, all three big box office draws for Warner Brothers studios.
> 
> The Louisville Slugger was, and still is, the official baseball bat of the major leagues. The new ones are composite, but the old style ones were solid hard wood, and made an impressive blunt instrument...
> 
> Tiffany's to this day is still synonymous with fine quality jewelry, and has been since the building of its first flagship store in 1870. 
> 
> Paul Klee--Swiss-German artist who explored and mixed several styles including cubism, expressionism, and surrealism, creating something that was uniquely his own. He also wrote extensively on color theory.
> 
> The Arrow Shirt Man, or more properly the Arrow Collar Man, was the creation of commercial artist J.C. Leydendecker, and was considered the epitome of masculine style and elegance. Interestingly enough, one of Leydendecker's favorite models was his long-time companion Charles Beach.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili prepares for his visit to Galadriel Gold, and Kili takes the phrase 'go fly a kite' to heart.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“Positive. Just lie back, close your eyes, and think of England…or Dayton,” Ori said with a grin.

Fili huffed in annoyance. “I’ve spent the last ten years trying to forget Dayton. Dayton is why I came to New York. And explain to me why I’m listening to the man who wears hand knitted vests with pinstripe suits?” he asked the barber, a white-haired gentleman with twinkling eyes who could have stood in for Santa at Macy’s. 

“Just trust me on this, all right?” Ori asked. “You can’t show up on a lady’s doorstep looking like one of the Smith Brothers.” Fili sighed but did as he was told, letting the barber settle the cape around him and lean him back in his chair. Hot water cascaded over his head, slicking back overlong hair, making him relaxed and a bit sleepy despite his nerves. The barber made light conversation as he shampooed Fili’s hair, giving his scalp a thorough massage. Fili repressed a sigh, but only just. Pure heaven—he could get used to this.

“Not too short, please, Balin,” Ori told the barber. “It’d be a shame to lose those curls completely. But the beard has absolutely got to go.”

“Not to worry; I’ll make him look good for the lady. Somebody special, eh?”

“Very special.” It had been a week since he’d visited the GalleRi, and Fili was still wrapping his head around the idea that in three days’ time, on Monday afternoon, he would be sitting and having tea with Galadriel Gold. She had requested that he come to see her on her day off from the theatre, at her home. No one back in Dayton would ever believe it. He thought he’d gone deaf for a moment from the scream of delight Vanna had let out when he told her the news, and he was sure he could still feel Bombur’s backslap.

The scissors snipped, trimmed and shaped, and damp hair littered the floor. Balin kept up a running commentary on baseball, and a spirited debate started over the best pitcher the Giants ever had. “Come on, after the All Star Game two years ago, and the season he had last year, you’re gonna try to tell me Carl Hubbell isn’t about the best pitcher you’ve ever seen?” Fili’s eyes were closed, but he could hear the disbelief in his friend’s voice, and could easily picture the outrage in the normally pleasant face. “This is the guy that took out Ruth, Gehrig, Foxx, Simmons and Cronin in one game! I’d like to see pretty much anyone else do that. There’s a reason they call him ‘Meal Ticket’.”

“Upstart,” Balin scoffed. “He’s good, but Christy Mathewson used the screwball before he did, y’know. Hubbell’s a copycat. And if Matty hadn’t wrecked his lungs in the war and then got TB, he’d probably still be showing these kids how it’s done.” He nudged Fili’s shoulder. “What do you think? Who’s got the best arm in the Giants?”

“Uh, honestly, I really couldn’t say—I’m more of a football man, myself. You start talking quarterbacks, then we’ve got a conversation. Sounds like they’re both great, though.” He’d learned long ago that you didn’t argue with fans about their passions, and he didn’t want that straight razor anywhere near his throat if he admitted that, as far as he was concerned, the Yankees’ Lefty Gomez could pitch rings around both their favorites.

The barber removed the hot towel from Fili’s face and sat him up, whisked away the cape, and handed him a hand mirror to check the haircut in the back. “So, what do you think? Good enough for the special lady? Tell you what, if I had a chin that looked like that, I’d never hide it under a beard.”

Fili surveyed his reflection in the mirror, running a hand over the bare skin. It felt odd, and it made him feel vulnerable, like he’d dropped ten years and looked like that kid from Dayton again. But if he allowed himself a little vanity, he did have to admit the barber was right—there had been a good jawline hidden under the facial hair. His hair was tamed, but still full and swept back neatly from his face. He smiled, and blue eyes twinkled back at him. “You’re a miracle worker,” he told Balin, handing the hand mirror back. “I’m almost afraid to ask: what do I owe you?”

“Put it on our tab,” Ori said before the barber could quote a price. “Dori pretty much keeps this place in business all by himself. Never saw a man fuss so about his hair—think he got it from Ma. And Nori’s almost as bad. Consider it our investment in your success.”

Fili knew better than to protest, but dipped into his pocket and dropped a tip in the jar on the counter anyway. “Now, off to find you a suit,” Ori said, propelling him out the door. “I know a place that’s having a sale right now, and the owner will give us a good deal. He and Nori go way back, some kind of smuggling thing in the 20s? I don’t really know the whole story.” 

“Probably just as well; what you don’t know, they can’t beat out of you.”

“Well, you’d never know it to look at Bard now—as law-abiding as they come these days. I think Nori’s a little disappointed in him, but he’s raising three kids on his own, so he has to toe the line. And nobody knows a good suit like he does. Nori won’t go to anyone but him.”

This bit of information made Fili feel better—Ori was a great guy but his taste in clothes left something to be desired on occasion. Where Dori was old-school elegance, and Nori was the snappy dresser, Ori’s style could most charitably be described as ‘cozy’. 

Ori nudged his shoulder. “Come on, there’s the bus.” They sprinted to the bus stop and joined the queue to get aboard, taking one of the last seats available. Fili slid in next to the window and leaned his head against the sun-warmed glass, a knot composed equally of anticipation and apprehension settling in his stomach. Cinderella was getting ready to go the ball—he just hoped midnight didn’t strike too soon.

\-----

“Single-breasted for you, I think,” Bard Bowman pronounced after looking Fili over with a critical eye. “You’ve got good shoulders already, and a nipped-in waist will show those off without the need for padding. Let’s see what we have.”

Fili and Ori followed the shop owner as he traversed the store, stopping at various racks. Long fingers selected three suits; one in black, one in navy, and one in charcoal. “Let’s start with these.”

Fili took the suits into a dressing room and glanced at the tags, giving a mental sigh of relief. All three were within his budget. He’d have to watch his spending for the next couple of months, but he’d be all right. He shucked out of shoes and trousers and slipped on the suit’s three pieces over his own shirt, marveling at the fit. “How did you know my size?” he asked Bard when he came out to inspect himself in the mirror.

Bard’s smile relaxed the stern cast of his face. “It’s my job to know these things, just as it’s your job to know which medium is the best one to use for your work.” 

“I swear I didn’t tell him,” Ori said, grinning at Fili’s shock. 

“You have some bright blue paint under a fingernail, too bright to be house paint,” Bard elaborated. “And if I’m not mistaken I saw a sketchbook sticking up out of your jacket pocket when you came in. It was an educated guess.”

Fili glanced down at his right hand, and sure enough, there was a dot of blue paint that has survived being washed earlier that day. “Well, if you ever get tired of selling suits, you could always hang up your shingle as a private eye. You’d give Sam Spade or Sherlock Holmes a run for his money.” 

Bard shook his head, and Fili was sure he saw a cloud pass over the dark eyes. “It would be a lot more exciting, I’m sure, but I’ve had enough excitement for one lifetime. And I have to be home at suppertime for my children. I doubt either Mr. Spade or Mr. Holmes ever had to worry about that.” He asked Fili to do a full turn for him, a thoughtful frown between his eyes. “This suit looks good, but I think black might be a bit somber for a spring social visit. Let’s see how the others look.”

In the end, the blue suit was the unanimous decision. Fili took a last turn in front of the mirror. Three reflections grinned back at him. The artist who had walked into the barber shop a couple hours ago was gone. This man in the stylish navy suit would not look out of place having tea on the Upper West Side. Aside from the trousers needing to be hemmed, there was no alteration needed, and the jacket draped beautifully off Fili’s solid shoulders, as Bard had said it would. “This is a good year round weight and a classic style, so you can wear this until you’re tired of it,” the tailor said.

“I’m not sure that’s good salesmanship—aren’t you supposed to be telling me that lapels are going a mile wide next year and I’d better be prepared to replace it in six months?” Fili quipped.

“Not many people have money to throw around these days. My customers appreciate value and honesty. When the time comes that you need another suit, I hope you’ll come back to me for it, and will recommend me to others. That’s the best advertising I can ask for.”

“Well, you’ll get it from me, for sure—this looks great.” Fili carefully removed the jacket and waistcoat, handing them to Bard to hang up. “I’ll need a good shirt and tie to go with this; what do you have?”

A bright-white shirt and a blue and silver striped tie completed the ensemble, and Bard threw in a coordinating pocket handkerchief. The trousers would be hemmed that day, and Fili could pick the suit up on Saturday. The shirt would be pressed and hung with the suit for pick up. 

Bard slid the accessories into a bag and wrote up a receipt. Fili took it and shook his head. “No, this is wrong; the suit alone cost more than this, and you didn’t add in the alteration fee.”

“A discount for friends,” Bard said, nodding at Ori.

“You have a family to look after, and your time is worth money, too. The suit is on sale, so I’m already getting a good deal. Treat me like any other customer.”

Bard’s eyebrows rose. “I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone object to getting a discount before, but if you insist…” He rewrote the bill, and Fili smiled as he handed the money over. Not having to worry about every nickel for the first time in years felt good, and he was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

Fili and Ori parted ways outside the shop, and Fili caught the bus back home. He got off a few blocks from his flat, unwilling to see his good day end just yet. There was a gentle wind blowing, and as he approached the park, he saw several kites in the air, dancing on the currents and now and then getting caught in the trees. One bright red one was being expertly piloted by a tall youth whose dark curls were shorter than they had been the last time Fili had seen him. Kili’s jacket was off and his sleeves rolled back, and his eyes were bright with concentration. The kite was vivid against the blue sky, weaving and sometimes dipping low, but never coming close enough to the ground or trees to worry about.

A grin lit Fili’s face at the sight of his friend, but he didn’t interrupt him. He stayed back and watched, enjoying the skill with which Kili handled the bobbing kite. He seemed taller, broader of shoulder though still coltishly slender, filling out into the promise of manhood though not quite there yet. Sixteen, perhaps? Once again, the surprise was that there was no surprise—he had analyzed it from every angle in the past weeks, and had simply given up, accepting whatever was going on at face value. There were things you didn’t question, and a muse was one of them. He was just happy Kili was back.

A sudden gust of wind nearly ripped the kite out of Kili’s hands, but he brought it back under control with some effort, pulling it to earth with swift precision. He checked it for damage as he turned around, then he looked up and saw Fili. A look of surprise flitted across his face, replaced by a bright smile. “Wow, you look great!” Kili cried as he trotted over with his kite. “When did this happen?”

“Today, actually. Winter’s over; it was time I came out of hibernation.” Fili ran a self-conscious hand over his chin. “I’m still not quite used to it.”

“You look…very handsome.” Kili’s cheeks colored, and his eyes dropped for a moment, then came back up to meet Fili’s, twinkling brightly. “I’m so glad you’re here! Did you see the kite?” He had indeed gained some height, Fili noted—brown eyes were now looking slightly down into blue.

“I did. You’re really good with that thing; did you make it?” 

“Yeah. I know kites are kind of a kid thing, but I’ve always loved flying them, and it was such a beautiful day I had to come out for a while. I think I finally got the design right—she flies like an angel.” It didn’t look like the typical homemade elongated diamond of paper and light wood—there was a sleeker feel to it, lighter and stronger. “You want to try it?”

Fili shook his head. “I’ve never been able to keep a kite in the air in my life, and this one is too pretty to wreck. But you were handling it like a pro. I bet you’d be a terrific pilot one day.”

“You think so? I’d love to fly, but I’m pretty sure Uncle would have a fit if I did—he really hates airplanes. He always said that he knows he could walk or swim a whole lot further than he could fly if there was ever an accident. And he teaches engineering.”

“Well, I guess the design skill runs in the family. And if he teaches engineering, maybe he knows something about planes we don’t. It’s been a while since I’ve seen you. How are you and your uncle getting on?”

Kili tucked the kite under the bench and sat down. Fili followed suit. “Do you remember what you said, about maybe he was hurting, and he’d be all alone on that train? You were right, Fili—he’s a big man, bigger than I’ll probably ever be, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone look so shrunk down and sad. You said I’d know what to do and say when I saw him, and I did. I just walked up and gave him a hug. I don’t think he was expecting that, not from a kid he’d only seen once before, but he didn’t seem to want to let go, either. When he finally did, he told me how much I looked like Mama. We talked most of that night, and he kept telling me he was sorry.”

“For what?”

“He was sorry he’d wasted so much time. He and Mama fought, really bad, when she told him she was leaving home to be an actress. They didn’t talk for a long time. When I met him, he’d come to see her to try and get her to get off the stage. It was no life for a woman raising a kid, he said. She was as stubborn as he was, though. They finally made up not long before…before the fire, and he’d been planning on coming for a visit to get to know me and Papa. I wanted to be mad at him, but I couldn’t; he missed her as much as I did. I felt stupid for being afraid to meet him.”

“You didn’t know, and I’m glad it worked out for both of you. So are you in town for a visit?”

“I’m at Auntie Bella’s for the next few days. Uncle Thorin is coming in tomorrow morning and we’re going to show him the city this weekend. On Saturday we’re all going to see _Sparks Fly At Night_ ; Miss Gold is leaving us tickets at the box office, Auntie Bella said. And we’re going backstage to see her afterward.”

Fili had done his homework in advance of his visit to the star’s home, and he knew that _Sparks Fly At Night_ was the name of the play that had made Galadriel Gold a household name a decade earlier. It had run for nearly two years, but had not been revived since then, to his knowledge. He smiled to cover his confusion, filing the time anomaly away for mulling over later. “Miss Gold is leaving the tickets for you? How do you rate?”

“She was friends with Mama and Papa, and she’s still friends with Auntie Bella. She was out one day last week and ran into Miss Gold, and Auntie Bella told her Uncle and I were coming to visit, and that was that. She said she’s looking forward to seeing me again. I didn’t think she’d even remember me.”

“If it’s been a while since she’s seen you, she might not recognize you. I almost didn’t; you’re getting so tall. And with those eyes and that smile, I bet you’re having to beat the girls off with a stick.”

Kili snorted. “Not hardly. They go for the big beefy jocks, not beanpoles like me. But that’s all right; I’m not…I’ve got other stuff on my mind these days anyway. I’ve still got some more growing up to do.” Kili stopped abruptly and ducked his head, chewing his lower lip. After a moment, he asked, “So what’s been going on with you? Have you done more pictures? I’ve still got the one you did for me.”

“I’m glad. Things are going pretty well, and they might be getting better soon. I don’t want to say anything more or I’ll jinx it. I’m working harder than I ever have, but it’s finally starting to come together. And it’s happening at least partly because of you, so…thank you. I think maybe you really are going to be my reputation, like you said the first time we met.”

“Good; that means when you’re rich and famous you won’t forget about me.”

Fili laughed. “I think I’d forget my own name before I forgot you. You are very special, Kilian Durin Vivirson.”

Kili shook his head but beamed anyway. “I’m not, but I’m glad you think I am.” 

Fili glanced up as another kite, this one brilliant yellow, caught his attention. An image flashed into Fili’s mind, and he pulled his sketchbook out. “Would you do something for me?”

“Anything—except maybe kill a spider. I like spiders.”

“Would you take your kite up again and let me sketch you? I’ve got an idea for a painting, and I’ll need something to work from.”

Kili shot up from the bench with a huge grin on his face, grabbed his kite, and after a bit of experimentation found the perfect current to float it on. He put it through its paces, long tail streaming out behind it. Crimson glowed against azure, looping into figure eights, a ballerina entrancing her audience of one. Fili’s pencil worked in rough outlines to capture the scene, scribbling notes in the margins. It wasn’t pretty and polished, but it didn’t have to be. That would come later. And not all of Kili’s pleading could get Fili to show it to him. It, like its subject, still had some more growing up to do. 

He wended his way back to his flat, reluctant to part from Kili but eager to get to work. He stretched and prepped a new canvas—he could have painted over an old one, but this new piece deserved a fresh start. He left it in a secure corner as he fixed something to eat, wolfing it down with little thought or taste. His brain was occupied with other things, and he had half a dozen new sketches scattered over the scarred table by the time his body decided it had had enough. The pencil fell from nearly-nerveless fingers, and his eyes were gritty, but he felt at peace. When he stumbled into bed and much-needed sleep, it was to dreams of jewels against the sky, and the breathless wonder of flight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes for this chapter:
> 
> Macy's Department Store--anyone who has seen either the film Miracle on 34th Street or watched the annual Thanksgiving Day Parade that the store sponsors knows that Macy's is one of the big names in retail in NYC. If you can't find it at Macy's you probably don't need it.
> 
> Smith Brothers Cough Drops were one of those things people from my generation grew up with. The company was founded in 1847, and the portrait of bearded brothers William and Andrew Smith on the packaging logo was iconic. The company was bought by F&F Foods in 1972, and the logo was discontinued.
> 
> Carl 'Meal Ticket' Hubbell was a phenomenal pitcher for the Giants in the 30s and 40s. The story about the 1934 All Star game is true-- he struck out future Hall of Famers Babe Ruth, Lou Gehrig, Jimmie Foxx, Al Simmons and Joe Cronin.
> 
> Christy 'Big Six' Mathewson is ranked by many as the greatest NY Giant of all time, and one of the greatest pitchers from any team ever. He could pitch fast balls, curveballs, fadeaways, slow balls, and held records that stood for years. He was the first pitcher elected to the Hall of fame. When World War I broke, Matty volunteered, got a dose of poison gas, leaving him open to the Spanish flu epidemic of 1917-18, and finally to the tuberculosis that killed him a few years later. 
> 
> Lefty Gomez wowed fans in the 30s and early 40s for the Yankees, and in a ranking of great Yankee pitchers he comes in behind only legend Whitey Ford and current ace Mariano 'The Closer' Rivera. For a man who once said, "I'd rather be lucky than right," he managed to combine both traits with a wit that always left the sports writers something to fill their columns with.
> 
> Sam Spade is the guy you think of when you think 'hard boiled detective'. Created by Dashiell Hammett in 1930 and brought to brilliant life by Humphrey Bogart in the film The Maltese Falcon, he is the epitome of cool, tough, streetwise badassery. 
> 
> The technical institute where Thorin teaches is a real place, Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute in Troy, NY, about 3 hours from New York City. Founded in 1824, It has a renowned engineering program, attracting graduate and post-grad students from all over the world. 
> 
> And in case you're wondering why I'm showcasing the Giants in this story, instead of one of the other marvelous teams...well, the Yankees have had entire libraries written about them. The Brooklyn Dodgers have had their fair share of press, too. But the Giants' time in New York has gotten relatively little press, so it was time they got the spotlight. (And I'm not even a baseball fan....)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili has tea with Galadriel, and is offered a very special job.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I apologize for being two weeks late with the update, but to make up for it a bit, here's a double length chapter! I'll try to keep it on track from now on.
> 
> I've put in a tiny nod to The Fellowship of the Rings in this chapter (the book), see if you can spot it :)
> 
> And if anyone is interested, Rabbi Belinsky is a nod to Gene Wilder's character in The Frisco Kid. If you've never seen it, go find a copy (think it's probably on Netflix), it's a romp, and costars Harrison Ford.
> 
> And I went full out with the historical references this time...

The sun rose early Monday morning. Fili rose rather later. He had exhausted himself over the weekend, but it had been worth it. Saturday and Sunday he had worked like a man possessed—and in a way, he supposed he had been. The new painting bloomed under his restless hands--grays, browns and watered blues sketching in the scene of the park, a dreamlike impermanence about it, like an out of focus photograph. Then vivid and sharp at the center stood a young man, head thrown back and laughing, kite string in agile fingers. His eyes followed the dancing kite, luminous in shades of glowing red against the muted background, its multicolored rainbow tail streaming behind it. The joy on the young man’s face mixed with a longing to join the kite, to know how it felt to be so free. And there was a tinge of sadness as well.

“What do you suppose the kite thinks about it?” Kili had asked him as he brought the kite back down and stowed it back under the bench to don his coat. “Do you think a kite can feel sad? It flies and soars, but there are strings, and it only gets to fly when someone lets it. Sometimes I wonder if the kite talks to the wind, asking it to help it escape.” He flushed at Fili’s quizzical look. “Yeah, I know—crazy, right?” 

Fili shook his head after a moment. “Not really. If the kite gets away, it can fall to the ground or get caught in a tree and can get wrecked, but maybe, just for that one moment, it does feel completely free. And maybe it will be able to just get away completely. A lot of times, freedom comes with a price tag; I guess it depends on whether you think the cost is worth it. I left home to be free, to be…me, and more than once I’ve wondered if the price was too high.” 

_Like last winter…_ Suffering from a cold, broke, behind on his rent, and on the verge of being tossed into the street, he’d drawn a dark self-portrait on one of his last remaining sheets of paper, filling it with every ounce of his despair and fear. He’d taken it to the GalleRi with no real hope of a sale, but Dori had offered him a few dollars for it, just enough to catch up the rent and buy a new sketchpad. Fili suspected Christmas time charity had prompted the purchase, but having a roof over his head trumped pride any day. It was enough to keep darker thoughts at bay for a while longer. An invitation to Bombur and Vanna’s for Christmas dinner had made things seem a lot less bleak, and the gift of a hand-knitted scarf and gloves from their eldest daughter had kept the winter chill at bay. It had still been hard, but he’d survived, and now spring was sliding into what promised to be a beautiful summer. And he’d come so close to missing it.

Last night, looking at the painting, he knew he’d pay the price all over again if it meant he’d produce something like this. Like that first portrait of Kili, he knew this was something special. It wasn’t quite done yet, still needing a bit of tweaking here and there, but he’d finish when he got back from Miss Gold’s. Right now, it was time to get up and face the world.

He swung his feet out of bed and pulled an old cardigan over his undershirt and boxers. It had been made for someone much taller than himself, hanging nearly to his knees, and served well as a bathrobe—another of his lucky second-hand finds. He rolled back the sleeves and considered his breakfast options. His stomach was knotted enough to make eating difficult, but he knew he needed food in him; it was going to be an eventful day.

Coffee was a must to clear out the last of the cobwebs. While that was perking on the hot plate, he padded over to the window. The frame was sticky; it took a hard thump from the heel of his hand on each upper corner, but Fili got the window open and leaned out. The breeze was already laden with exhaust and even less pleasant smells, but he sucked in several deep lungfuls anyway. He’d lived in this city for ten years; he wasn’t sure his system would be able to process untainted air anymore.

He closed his eyes for a moment as the sun washed over his face, just listening to the life going on around him—cars whooshing by on the streets; indistinct shouts from a couple kids playing hooky from school; a newsie rattling off headlines that he couldn’t quite catch; a peal of laughter. The streets wrote their own music; sometimes harsh, sometimes joyful, often with dark undercurrents, but always alive and ever changing, with enough sweet grace notes to balance out the discordant ones. 

He realized the coffee pot had stopped perking and snatched it off the hot plate. It had scorched slightly, but he’d drunk worse. He took his first cup to the door and retrieved the day-old newspaper that Mr. Thrain always left for him. Since the table was still covered in sketches and art supplies, he spread the paper out on the bed, skimming the headlines, pausing now and then to read an interesting article. The news from Europe was looking more and more like a new war was brewing, even if Mr. Roosevelt didn’t want the US involved. He really hoped it wouldn’t get that bad—he was old enough to remember the last war, remembered the uncle that didn’t come home, and the way his mother had cried. And people like Bifur carried more scars than just the ones people could see.

Shaking his head to dispel further gloomy thoughts, he turned to the sports and entertainment sections. The Giants had won another game—that would make the Riordans happy, even more so because it was against the Dodgers. He scanned the film listings—maybe he’d treat himself to a movie this week. A Cagney picture was always worth the price of admission, and there was a new one playing at the Royal. And he was delighted to see Miss Gold’s new play had gotten a great review. He’d have to make sure to congratulate her. He couldn’t help an incredulous laugh--to think he was in a position to do exactly that in a few hours still amazed him. He’d better get his head around it, and soon, or he’d make a complete fool of himself. Kili would be very disappointed, and here was no way he was going to let his muse down.

He poured a second cup of coffee, scraped the last of the peanut butter out of the jar for a sandwich, and set the jar in the sink to rinse. He needed another jar to soak brushes in—a leak in one of the others had nearly ruined a couple of sketches. He alternated bites of sticky sandwich with sips of coffee and spoonfuls of fruit salad straight from the can. Much to his surprise, eating actually helped ease the tension in his stomach and some stretches unkinked the muscles in his back and shoulders. Hopefully there would be enough hot water to finish the job when he took his shower. He spread a section of the newspaper on the floor and got his boots out. He took his time blacking and polishing them, buffing the leather till it gleamed. They weren’t patent leather dress shoes, but they’d do well enough. He glanced at the clock, took a deep breath, and headed into the bathroom.

A few minutes later, surveying his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he lathered his face with the shaving soap and scraped away the ginger-blond stubble that had appeared overnight. He was ready to canonize the inventor of the safety razor—if he had had to use an old-style straight razor this morning, he’d probably have slit his own throat with the tremor in his hands. 

Miraculously, his face and neck were unmarred, and he wiped away the last vestiges of soap. His skin was still pink from the vigorous scrubbing he’d given it in the shower, making sure to remove any traces of paint and shoe polish. He didn’t want a repeat of the scene in Bard’s shop. He was surprised there were no circles under his eyes, but counted his blessings. His hair, damp-dry from the toweling, stuck up at angles all over his head, and he smoothed it back with his hands. He’d deal with it properly later, but it was time to get dressed.

He slipped on fresh boxers, socks, and undershirt, then took the wrapping off the suit and shirt. He put each piece on carefully, smoothing and adjusting, and still-trembling fingers knotted the blue and silver tie and fastened the cuff buttons. His hair shone burnished gold as he brushed it into place and then slid the jacket on. He checked the adjustment of the pocket handkerchief and nodded at the grinning man in the mirror. Not half bad at all, if he did say so himself. But he wasn’t quite done yet—there was one more piece.

The hat, a wool felt fedora in classic black, had been an impulse buy. It had been sitting on a counter in Bard’s shop when Fili went to retrieve his suit. It happened to be his size, and when he pulled off his fisherman’s cap to try it on, he was amazed how good it looked, giving him just the right combination of elegance and flair. Fili justified the purchase by reasoning that it was the sort of thing a gentleman would wear to meet a lady, and didn’t argue with the price Bard quoted on it this time.

Confidence flowed over him in a smooth wave as he settled the fedora carefully over his hair, and he gave his tie a minute adjustment to the right. Now he was ready. One more nod and a wink at his reflection, and he was on his way out the door.

The cab pulled up in front of the drugstore a few minutes later, shining under a fresh coat of wax. Bofur got out with a grin and a raised eyebrow. “So what do you think?” Fili asked, doing a quick turn.

“You’d give Fred Astaire a run for his money,” Bofur pronounced.

“Well, as long as I don’t look like Ginger Rogers, I guess I’m all right.” 

“Small chance of that, lad, even without the beard,” Bofur chuckled. “Oh, by the by, Vanna told me to tell you that you’re never to grow the beard back; it hides the dimples. And my Miriam sent a little something for you.” 

Bofur reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny on a chain, depositing it in Fili’s hand. “A Star of David?” 

Bofur nodded. “It was Miriam’s mother’s. They didn’t bring much with them when they left Russia; they got out just ahead of the Commies throwin’ them out. Sonya held on to this and gave it to Miriam. She was wearing it the night we met, and she’s always called it her good luck charm. She thought maybe it’d rub off on you. Take good care of it; she’ll want it back.”

“I will,” Fili promised, depositing the necklace in his pocket. “Thank you.”

Bofur opened the back door of the cab with a flourish. “Your carriage awaits, m’lord.”

Fili shook his head with an amused grin and climbed into the back. As the cab pulled away from the curb he said, ”I didn’t know your wife was Jewish.”

“Yeah, we’re straight outta _Abie’s Irish Rose_ , except I’m the Irish rose,” Bofur replied, eyes twinkling in the rearview mirror.

“Did your families have any problems with the two of you getting together?”

“Her family had more of a problem with me bein’ a cabbie than bein’ Catholic, but as long as their girl was happy, they were happy. Miriam won my da over with her challah, but Ma…well, she’s been a tougher sell.” 

Fili couldn’t see his friend’s face, but he could hear the sadness in the normally cheery voice. “It’s tough when the parents don’t understand.” He’d carried a swollen lip from his father’s backhand on the train to New York, but far more painful had been the tirade of hateful slurs. His consolation had been the split knuckles from the return punch he’d delivered when the old man had gone after his mother for defending him. Not that she’d needed her son’s help—Mary Shaughnessy Oakes had a mean right hook of her own. She had seen Fili off with a hug the next morning, wearing the bruise on her cheek like a badge of honor. “But sometimes you have to do what your heart tells you.”

“Aye. And there’s still hope--Rabbi Belinsky and Father Grey are old friends, and between ‘em they’ve been tryin’ to talk her around. If the day comes that we’re blessed with children, I think that’ll be enough to finish the job. And we’re certainly workin’ on that.” The laughter was back in Bofur’s voice. “No, I got no regrets. I’m the luckiest guy in the world, even if I do have to sneak over to Bombur’s for a ham sandwich now and then.” 

A few more minutes brought them to an elegant brownstone building on the Upper West Side. It was only a few miles from Fili’s flat, but it might have been on another planet, it was so far removed from anything he’d ever seen outside of the movies or fancy magazines. He felt his stomach start to knot up again as Bofur opened the cab door for him, and one hand unconsciously slipped into his pocket, brushing the Star of David. 

“You’re gonna be fine,” his friend assured him. “She invited you, remember that. And it’s not like she can have you shot at sunrise or somethin’.”

“I don’t get up that early,” Fili quipped as he handed Bofur the fare for the ride. The accompanying grin was weak, but it was there, and that was something.

“See there? You’re home free. If you want a lift back, call—there’s probably a phone in there somewhere. Not sure folks around here would know what to do with a bus. Either way, stop by Bombur’s after—Vanna and the girls will want a full report.”

“Sounds good.” Bofur got back in the cab and drove away, and Fili rolled his shoulders to re-settle his jacket before walking up to the front door. There was a bell and a knocker, and he wasn’t sure which one he should use. He opted for the bell and heard the faint musical chime echo inside the house. He resisted the impulse to buff the toes of his boots on the backs of his pant legs as he waited.

Instead of the expected butler, the door was opened by a tall woman perhaps a few years his senior. She was dressed casually in trousers and simple blouse, and her short blonde hair was brushed back from her face, revealing small gold earrings but no other adornments. Fili returned her smile. “Miss Gold?”

“You must be Mr. Oakes. You’re right on time; please come in.” Fili removed his hat and stepped into the entryway, his artist’s eye appraising his surroundings. Comfortable and well-appointed, but not nearly as elegant and intimidating as he’d feared. The knot in his stomach started to slowly unravel.

“Mr. Oakes was my father. I’m Fili.” Her handshake was warm and firm, and to his surprise he noticed minute bits of dirt under her nails. She noticed his glance down at her hand and her smile went even wider.

“You’ve found out my secret, Fili—I lose all track of time when I’m in my garden. I’m afraid you’re far more elegant today than I am. Shall we have a seat in the living room?”

“Yes, thank you.” He hung his hat on the rack by the door, then followed the woman into a room that immediately made him feel at ease. The walls were painted a pale gold, and the large windows open to the breeze bathed everything in a warm light. Draperies were simple florals, and looked as though they might have been homemade. Small vases of flowers dotted the room, and they didn’t have the forced perfection of hothouse blooms, more like the stems snipped from her back garden. An upright piano stood in a corner with sheet music spread out on the stand. Solid looking chairs and sofa, with cushions meant for relaxing on, flanked a small fireplace. “This is a beautiful room,” Fili said, his smile widening. “It feels like…home.”

“That may be the nicest compliment I’ve ever had—thank you.” Green eyes danced, and her smile…Fili understood why Dori was so utterly smitten. “People that love crystal chandeliers and antique furniture have never had to dust and polish them. I have.” 

Fili took a corner of the sofa, and Galadriel chose one of the overstuffed chairs. Galadriel crossed one trouser-clad knee over the other and leaned back. “I have an offer to present to you, but I’d like to know a bit about you first. But before we get to that, I did promise you tea. Or would you prefer coffee?” she asked as she reached for the phone on the side table.

“Coffee if you have it. I’ve never been much of a tea drinker.”

She nodded, then spoke into the phone. “Elrond, coffee and tea, please…yes, I think some of each. Thank you.” She set the receiver back in its cradle. “So, do you mind a few questions? Consider this…an audition of sorts.”

“Ask away.” Maybe it was the room, maybe it was the genuine interest in the spring green eyes. Maybe it was the Star of David nestled in his pocket, but Fili could feel the tension seep out of him. He smiled and settled in.

“May I ask, Fili, where you learned your craft?”

“The school of trial and error,” Fili replied. A blonde eyebrow arched up in amusement, and he added, “I don’t mean to sound like a smart aleck; that’s the literal truth. I’ve been drawing since I could hold a pencil, but I’ve never had formal training. That wasn’t the kind of thing you spent money on in my family. I learned by doing, and by paying attention to what others did. I was the kid at the library trying to copy Rembrandt on the back of my old homework, or drawing instead of doing my homework. Sometimes I think I can still feel Sister Immaculata’s ruler on my knuckles, but it didn’t stop me. And she did give me my first real drawing pencils at the end of the year, so she couldn’t have been too upset.”

“Most of the great artists went to the same school, though I’m not sure how many had a Sister Immaculata to inspire them. Are you from New York?”

“No, I’m from Dayton, Ohio. I’ve been in New York about ten years now.” A crooked grin brought one dimple out in sharp relief. “I’m a walking cliché, running away from home at 18 to the big city. It seemed like everything was happening here, and for a while it was. Then the bottom fell out of the stock market, and it all went to hell in a handbasket.”

“Did you think about going back home?”

Fili shook his head. “It wasn’t any better there, and there was no way to get there short of walking or hitching rides, so I made do the best I could here. And it’s been tough sometimes, but this is home now, and I think it always will be.”

“Is there family back in Dayton?” 

“Just my mother and her sister. Dad died in an accident at the factory a few years ago.” _Without ever speaking to his son again._ Fili clamped a firm lid down on that thought, keeping his face serene and his smile in place. “I’m hoping one day I can bring them here, at least for a visit. Mama would go nuts at the Metropolitan, and Aunt Jennie would probably try to steal the library lions and take them home with her.”

“They sound like women after my own heart,” Galadriel laughed. “The Met has always been a favorite of mine, though I don’t have the time to get there very often anymore. And back in the day, the library was a godsend in the winter—a free place to get warm wasn’t something to be taken lightly.” Her smile went wider at the look of shock on Fili’s face. “I spent most of ten years shuttling from one stage door to another before _Sparks Fly at Night_ came along, and as you said, times could get tough, especially when a young woman is stubborn and won’t ask her parents for help.”

Fili just blinked in astonishment—the idea of someone like Galadriel Gold once being as broke as he was didn’t quite fit into his worldview. He was saved from further embarrassment by the sound of a tea cart being wheeled into the room by a tall dark haired man. Two pots sat under quilted cozies, and they were flanked by ceramic cups and saucers as no-nonsense as the ones in Bombur’s restaurant. A matching ceramic tray held a variety of sandwiches, cake slices, and cookies. Small plates, forks, and napkins sat on a second tier of the cart. “Will there be anything else, Miss?” Elrond asked after depositing the items on the coffee table.

“This will do splendidly; thank you, Elrond.”

“Very good, Miss.” Elrond hesitated a moment before continuing. “Oh, and Celebrian would like a word with you about the butcher at your convenience.”

“If she is planning on giving me a tongue lashing about cancelling our orders with Mr. Stone, tell her to save her breath. He’s been charging double for the exact same quality of meat I can get from Mr. Scaparelli. Contrary to popular opinion, I do work quite hard for my money. I’d like not to throw more of it away than I need to.”

Fili saw one corner of Elrond’s mouth twitch, but the rest of his face remained professionally calm. “I shall inform Celebrian. Enjoy your tea and coffee. May I suggest sir try the cinnamon biscuits? They are particularly good today.”

Fili took one of the proffered cookies, bit in, and barely suppressed a moan of delight. A perfect combination of spicy and sweet, the buttery treat melted in his mouth. “My compliments to the chef,” he managed after swallowing, “and please tell her I have a friend that would kill for this recipe.” A small part of his brain was already trying to figure out a way to smuggle a few home with him.

“Celebrian will be delighted to hear that, sir. Enjoy.” Elrond left the room as quietly as he’d entered it, but now Fili noticed a small but very definite smile. 

“I apologize for that little display,” Galadriel said as she poured out coffee for Fili and handed it over. “Celebrian seems to be of the opinion that every Italian is related to Signor Mussolini or Mr. Capone. I also apologize for not using the good china today, but to be honest, I truly hate the stuff. My grandmother gave it to me, and it reminds me too much of Saturday afternoons and being terrified of breaking something. It generally only gets used when she comes to visit. Eighty-five years young, bless her, and I’m sure she’s going to outlive me.”

Galadriel stirred sugar and lemon into her tea and placed two of the cinnamon cookies on her own plate. “To get back to our discussion, I told you I had an offer for you. You may have heard that Thranduil Greenleaf is building a new theatre.”

“I did read something about that in the paper; it’s going up where the Erebor Theatre was, correct?”

She nodded. “He’d like it to be for all the people of the city, not just the elite, and wants to showcase up and coming talent, both on the stage and in the design of the building itself. There will be portraits of the six people who died in the Erebor fire, and Thranduil has asked me to find the artists to create them. I have a few lined up, but I hadn’t found the person I wanted to do the portraits of Dis and Vali Vivirson. That is, until I saw the lovely piece you did of the little boy. Do you believe in omens, Fili?”

Fili thought back to the day he met Kili, and how one chance meeting had turned his life around. Or had it been chance after all? “I never used to. Lately, I’ve been starting to wonder.”

“Dis and Vali had a son named Kilian. The boy in your portrait looks so much like little Kili Vivirson that it quite took my breath away. It seemed like a sign from above. And then I saw the crocus piece, the flowers against the gray background. I saw a spirit that refused to be broken. I knew you were the artist I was looking for. That spirit is exactly the quality we need for the new theatre. It’s why Thranduil and I didn’t want to go with established artists—this is about new beginnings, and giving something back to a city that also doesn’t know how to give up.”

“No, it doesn’t,” Fili agreed, recalling his thoughts looking out onto the city that morning. “Can you tell me a bit about Dis and Vali? If I’m to do their portrait, I’d like to know who they were. And maybe a bit about their son, since he’s sort of responsible for me being here today.” The words were casual and professional, but he could feel his heart speed up. Maybe he’d find some answers to his questions about Kili. 

“Dis and Vali were my inspiration to try acting. I was sixteen years old when I saw them onstage for the first time in a touring company. The play was average, but they were splendid together, far outshining the material. My father knew the theatre manager and I was allowed to go backstage after the matinee. I can’t imagine the impression I must have made, stumbling over my words and blushing furiously, but they were so warm and gracious. We talked for nearly an hour, and by the time we were done, I knew that I wanted to be an actress. The idea of becoming someone else entirely, entering a different world--that appealed greatly to a girl whose life seemed carved in stone. My parents had very definite ideas of the sort of man I was to marry, where I was to live, even how many children I should have. I wrote to Dis and Vali, and they wrote back, urging me to wait until I was done with high school before I came to New York. I was to look them up when I got into town. I’m afraid I was a bit of a fool, and I was on the train within a week after getting their letter. I thought if I waited they might forget me.”

“And I take it you looked them up?” Fili asked, helping himself to a delicate sandwich with some kind of paste in it that he couldn’t identify, but it tasted wonderful.

“I did, and my mother would have been very proud of the lecture I got from Dis! If she could have, she would have packed me onto a train home that very day. But I dug in my heels and refused to go. Vali took pity on me, and they found me a place to stay. That was the start of one of the most important relationships in my life. Acting can be a very cutthroat profession, Fili, and finding true friends is rare. They took me under their wing, introduced me to people, and even made sure I ate properly and took care of myself. And there were always flowers waiting for me every opening night of a new play, even when all I did was fill out a crowd scene. They made me feel like family.”

Galadriel’s eyes took on a suspicious sheen. “What they did that night in the theatre—that was just who they were. There were people leaving letters and gifts for weeks after the funeral, people who had seen them perform or who had been touched by them in some way. And little Kili was as bright and friendly and open as his parents. Your portrait captured that so well, I find it hard to believe it’s not actually of him.”

“Well, they say everyone in the world has a double. Maybe I ran into his,” Fili murmured over the rim of his cup. He wasn’t sure he liked the fact that he could lie so convincingly, but the truth was impossible to explain. “I’m glad I did him justice, though.”

“You did. I thought my friend Bella was going to burst into tears when I gave it to her. She was like Dis’ sister; they’d known each other since they were children, and little Kili stayed with her when Dis and Vali toured and couldn’t take him with them. It broke her heart to see him go off with his uncle after the fire, but Kili has been happy with him, and comes to town to visit now and then. Bella always lets me know when he’s visiting.” 

So, not a ghost then—alive and well somewhere in the world. One question was answered, but a dozen still remained. “Do you have any pictures of them? I know it’s been a while, but I will need something to work from.”

“I may—let me look. Excuse me a moment.” Galadriel went to the bookcase and pulled a photo album from an upper shelf. Turning a few pages, she said, “Yes, I do have a couple here. I’m afraid they’re not very good—my talents don’t extend to photography.”

She removed the two photos from their corner holders and handed them to Fili. He wiped his fingers on a napkin before taking them. He recognized Dis and Vali from the photo in Kili’s treasure box, but this wasn’t a publicity still, just a candid shot of a handsome young couple with a regal-looking older man, wise face framed by graying blond hair. “That was the night I met my agent. Dis and Vali introduced us, and on their say-so Mr. King took a chance on a kid with no real experience.He still represents me to this day.”

The second photo was of the whole family, with Kili sitting between his parents and holding the treasure box. Fili saw Kili in every line of Dis’ face, but his eyes were his father’s legacy. “I wish you could have seen them both; the pictures don’t do them justice. Dis had the most amazing blue eyes, and Vali’s could go from amber to nearly black depending on his mood. Kili must have been around ten there; he took that box with him everywhere, but he never let me see what was in it.”

“Marbles, a pocket knife, rocks, a flat penny…” Fili murmured, then realized he was actually speaking out loud. “That’s the sort of stuff I had in my secret box when I was his age,” he covered without missing a beat. “I wouldn’t let girls look in mine, either.”

“Well, we ladies have our secrets, too, so I suppose it’s only fair. May I assume that you’re interested in the job?”

“I’d be honored, and thank you for your faith in me.”

“There will be a formal contract in a few days, but for now the terms are that you will have access to studio space, whatever supplies you need, and a flat fee for the finished portrait. There will also be incidental paintings needed for decoration throughout the theatre--we’ll discuss those later. And since we will need your services for some time, there will be a retainer. Would a hundred dollars per month be satisfactory?”

“Quite satisfactory, Miss Gold, thank you.” Fili smiled, to all outward appearances as calm as if he discussed things like this every day. Inside, the coffee and cookies were threatening to rebel from the excitement. He’d have done the job for the studio space and supplies alone, but a guaranteed retainer and money on completion? This was a dream come true. He only hoped he was up to the challenge.

“Excellent. I will make sure you have some better photos to work from. In the meantime, I’ll give you the address to the studio space; see the building manager for a key so you can let yourself in and out as you please. I’ll call to let him know you’re coming. And if we’re going to work together, and I am to call you Fili, I must insist that you call me Galadriel.”

Fili could feel his face heat up. “You may have to remind me now and then, but I’ll try to remember.”

“Good.” Galadriel went to a desk for an envelope, slid the pictures inside, and wrote something on the front. “There is the address for the studio. And your stipend will be left with Mr. Gamgee on the fifteenth of every month. Basic supplies should already be available, but if there is anything you need, let Mr. Gamgee know.” 

There was a whisper of sound, and Elrond appeared in the room. “Excuse me, Miss, but Celebrian wanted to know if sir would be joining you for dinner tonight.”

Galadriel cocked her head in invitation, but Fili shook his head. “I’ve taken up enough of your time today, Miss…Galadriel. Besides, I have work to do. I should have some preliminary sketches to show you soon.” He tucked the envelope with the precious pictures in his inside pocket.

“Good work ethic—I knew I made the right choice.” Galadriel’s smile was bright and approving. “I’ll let you go this time, but I intend to have all my artists for dinner at some point.”

“I’ll look forward to that. In the meantime, can you tell me where the nearest bus stop is? Or could I use the phone to call a cab?”

“No need for that. Elrond, would you mind driving Fili home, please?” 

“Really, I don’t want to be any trouble…” Fili started to protest.

“No trouble at all, sir,” Elrond assured him. “I’ve a few errands to run, anyway. I’ll bring the car round and meet you out front.”

Galadriel escorted him to the door. “Thank you for taking the commission, Fili. I’ve a feeling this portrait will be something extraordinary.”

“I will give it my very best.” Fili shook the proffered hand and retrieved his hat from the rack. “I’ll be in touch soon with the sketches.” 

There was a paper bag on the back seat of the car when Fili got in. “A token of appreciation from Celebrian,” Elrond explained. “Your friend won’t have to kill anyone now.” The bag contained several of the cinnamon cookies and a slip of paper with the recipe. “She does ask, however, that it goes no further.”

“I think I can speak for Vanna when I say Celebrian’s secret is safe. Tell her thank you.” 

The ride back to Fili’s neighborhood was quiet, with Elrond concentrating on his driving, and Fili lost in his own thoughts. Kili existed; he was not a ghost or a figment of Fili’s imagination. But it still left the mystery: who was _his_ Kili, the boy who was growing into a man before his eyes? Where did he come from, and where did he go when they parted? And why had he chosen Fili to befriend and inspire? The questions thrummed in the back of his mind, and by the time they pulled up in front of Bombur’s, all he had to show for his mental gymnastics was the start of a headache. He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose, and reached for the door handle. 

Through the window of the café he could see Vanna looking out, her eyes like saucers at the sight of the elegant car. A quick ‘come here’ gesture, and two of her daughters were peeking out the window, too. “This is going to be the talk of the neighborhood for days,” he chuckled, reaching for the door handle.

“Then perhaps we should give them something to talk about. If you’ll allow me, sir…” Elrond was out of the car and around to the passenger side in a flash, holding open the door. Fili composed his face into a serene mask as he stepped out, paper bag in hand. Elrond, the picture of smart professionalism, shut the door and asked, “Will there be anything else, Mr. Oakes?”

“No, thank you, Elrond. Give my best to Celebrian, and tell Miss Gold I’ll talk to her soon.”

“I shall. Have a pleasant evening, sir.” With a brisk nod somewhat spoiled by the twinkle of amusement in his eyes, Elrond strode back to the driver’s side, got in, and eased into traffic. 

Fili took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and sauntered into the café. Enigmas could wait – now it was time to celebrate with his chosen family.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes for this chapter:
> 
> James Cagney: I couldn’t write a story set in the 30s without mentioning my all-time favorite actor. I saw _Yankee Doodle Dandy_ for the first time when I was four years old and I’ve been a fan for over fifty years. He started out on stage (one of his first professional gigs was as a female impersonator!), went to films where he played everything from gangsters to song and dance men, government agents to pilots to boxers, winning an Oscar for playing Broadway legend George M. Cohan. Offscreen, he was a tireless fundraiser for the World War II War Bonds campaign, and a champion of conservation efforts. And Jeremy Renner would play the hell out of his biopic!
> 
> The safety razor: King Camp Gillette patented the first disposable blade safety razor in 1904, and the razors were standard issue for American soldiers in World War I. When they brought them home, the demand for the safety razor hit mainstream America, and the old-school straight razor went out of fashion pretty much everywhere except the barber shop.
> 
> The fedora: what passes these days for a fedora is a pale imitation knockoff of the real thing. Think every old-school private eye you’ve ever seen pictures of. Think Indiana Jones. THAT is a fedora, my friends, not the current symbol of meninist douchebaggery.  
> It was a cool hat for classy men, and deserves to be remembered.
> 
> Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers: I’m not sure even the kids on here really need an intro to these two, as their images have appeared any number of times on tumblr. Fred, all nonchalant elegance and grace, who could make dancing with a hat rack look like classical ballet (google it, the scene is pretty amazing); and Ginger, blonde and beautiful, who was famously said to have done everything Fred did, but backwards and in heels. They made ten films together, starting in 1935 with _Roberta,_ and ending with _The Barkleys of Broadway_ in 1949. 
> 
> _Abie’s Irish Rose_ : a huge stage hit despite weak critical reviews, ran for well over 2000 performances during its Broadway tour, and touring companies took it on the road for almost 40 years. Abie, from an Orthodox Jewish family, meets and marries Irish Catholic Rose, over the objections of both families, but after three acts and twin children (and the gentle interference of a priest and a rabbi), all is made right in the end.
> 
> Challah: braided egg bread traditionally served with Shabbas (Sabbath) dinner. I’ve only been lucky enough to have homemade challah a couple of times, and it’s truly amazing.
> 
> Stock market crash of 1929: whole books have been written about this, and it started a wave that swept the world and formed the basis for the Great Depression. Fili would have been right in the middle of this, according to my timeline.
> 
> The Metropolitan Museum of Art: opened its doors in February of 1872, and currently occupies 2,000,000 square feet, with one of the largest art collections in the world, ranging from classical to ultramodern.
> 
> The library lions: These twin statues have stood guard in front of the main branch of the New York Public Library for over a century. They’ve gone by several names over the years, but the names given them by Mayor Fiorello LaGuardia in the 30s have stuck: Patience and Fortitude (the qualities he said the people of New York needed to get through the Depression). 
> 
> Benito Mussolini: leader of Italy during the years leading up to and through World War II, and Hitler’s most infamous ally. Interestingly, he did his level best to wipe out the Mafia in Italy during his rule, and as a result the American Mafia was strong supporters of US war efforts, with boss Charles ‘Lucky’ Luciano allying with the Feds to keep New York Harbor safe from enemy attacks like the one that took out the _Normandie_.
> 
> Al Capone: when you think ‘mobster’, this is probably the man that will pop into your head, even if you don’t know his name. The kingpin of Chicago’s mob, his name is synonymous with bootlegging and ruthless power grabs. When they couldn’t pin any of his violent crimes on him (due to bribes, intimidation, and corrupt police departments),the Feds found another way to take him down: tax evasion. 
> 
> This went on longer than usual, and if I’ve missed anything, please let me know!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wherein is discussed family--past, present, and future.
> 
> Trigger warnings for mentions of domestic violence and homophobic slurs. Nothing graphic once again, but just so you know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First off, once again my sincere apologies for the delay in posting. My only real excuse is that I got a promotion at work, which involved learning some new stuff, and stressing out over doing it right, so creativity took a nosedive. I hope to get back on track with this thing now. Thanks for your patience!
> 
> A shout out to seashadows for her help with finding Miriam's song, Dos Lid Fun Broyt. And if you are not reading seashadows' story Sons of Jerusalem you are missing out on one of the best damn fics ever! Seriously, go read!!!

“Good evening, Vanna. Is there a table available?” Fili asked, scanning the nearly-empty room.

“Depends. Who was the guy with the car? I didn’t think cabs were that fancy uptown.”

“Oh, that was Elrond, Galadriel’s driver,” Fili said with a nonchalant shrug. “It is a gorgeous car, isn’t it?”

“Galadriel?” Russet eyebrows climbed toward Vanna’s hairline, and Fili fought to keep a straight face.

“Yes, she insisted I call her that. Lovely lady; we had a nice talk between coffee and cookies and, you know, her offering me a job.”

It took a couple beats for that to sink in, then there was an explosion of noise and motion. Jeannie’s scream of delight was even louder than her mother’s, and Elsie flew back to the kitchen to summon Bombur. Fili could feel his ribs creak under Vanna’s hug; he just barely saved the bag of cookies from her enthusiasm. “I can’t tell you what happened if you collapse my lungs!”

“Is it my fault you’re such a delicate little thing? Sit down, give me two minutes, and let me get these folks out of here. Then you’d better believe you’re going to tell us everything!”

Fili did as ordered, setting the paper bag and his hat on a nearby table. Vanna was all smiles and apologies as she told the couple of customers that the café was closing early due to a ‘family emergency’. Bombur put a CLOSED sign in the window as he ushered them out with more apologies, pulling the shades and locking the door. He pulled out the chair next to Fili, and Vanna took the one opposite. “So, talk,” he rumbled.

“In a few minutes. First, call Bofur and see if he and Miriam can come over—I have something to return to her. And before I forget, these are for you.” Fili slid the bag over to Vanna. “The recipe’s in there if you want it, and I think you’re going to want it. Top secret, from Galadriel’s own cook, so keep it to yourself.”

Fili watched Vanna bite into one of the cookies, and a tiny smile appeared and disappeared on her lips so fast he couldn’t be sure he hadn’t imagined it. “Well, my gingersnaps are just as good,” she said with a shrug that tried too hard to be nonchalant. Then the façade cracked. “Oh, who am I kidding? These are wonderful! And she just gave you the recipe?”

“I told her I had a friend that would love it. That was all it took. But remember, mum’s the word.”

“I’ll guard it with my life.” Suiting actions to words, Vanna folded the paper and tucked it in the front of her dress. “You think she’d like one of mine? I’ll bet she can’t top my strudel.”

“Nobody can, sweetheart.” Bombur’s hand covered hers, and she slapped it away when he tried to steal what was left of the cookie. She relented at his hurt expression and fed him the other half, a blush creeping into her cheeks as he kissed her fingertips. Six children and over two decades together, and they were still like kids in the first bloom of love. Not for the first time, Fili hoped that one day, someone would look at him the way they looked at each other.

“If you’re willing to give it up, I’ll find a way to get it to her,” Fili promised. 

Vanna shared out the rest of the cookies, making sure everyone got a sample. Fili waited until everyone was done, then said, “That’s taken care of. Now, since I’m the cause of the place shutting down early, the least I can do is help clean up. And no arguments—you’re not getting a word out of me till that’s done.” 

“Not in that suit, you won’t,” Vanna declared. “You ruin that, I’ll never speak to you again.”

“Well, I didn’t bring anything to change into, so this will have to do.” Fili pulled the tie loose, slipped it over his head, and laid in on a table. Suit jacket and shirt followed, draped carefully over the back of his chair. He bent and rolled the trouser legs to his knees—they would crease, but he could get them pressed again, and they wouldn’t run the risk of getting wet or dirty. “An apron will cover the rest. Good enough?”

“You heard the man,” Vanna said with a nod. “The faster we get done, the sooner we all find out what happened today, so chop chop!”

Every surface of the kitchen was gleaming, and Fili was pulling the apron off over his head when he heard a sharp rap of knuckles on the back door. “That’s a fetching outfit, lad,” Bofur greeted him with a grin, ushering in a petite brunette. “Oh, my manners. Miriam, love, this is Fili Oakes. Fili, my Miriam.” 

“Very pleased to finally meet you, Fili.” Her voice was as soft as the tumble of curls framing her face. Her dark eyes were kind and wise and twinkled when she smiled. She reminded him of the painting of the Virgin that used to hang in Sister Immaculata’s office. It had always made him feel like someone had just wrapped him in a warm blanket, protected and loved, even when Sister was hauling him over the coals for something. “Bo says there was good news today, yes?”

“Very good news. Come into the dining room—I have something to return to you.” Fili bent to roll down his trouser legs, then they followed him into the front of the café, where he dug into his suit pocket and carefully pulled out the Star of David. “Thank you for lending me this—it made me feel like I could face a dragon,” he said, gently folding her fingers around it and holding them a moment. 

“I hope Miss Gold was not that bad?” Miriam laughed as she clasped the pendant around her neck.

“No, she was great. And I’ve kept you all in suspense long enough. Everyone grab a seat; this may take a little while.”

Vanna brought out sandwiches and pie (“Might as well eat them, they’re not going to keep much longer”), Bombur put on a big pot of coffee, and Fili spent the next hour talking himself hoarse, repeating all the details he could remember of everything he’d seen at Galadriel’s house. The girls were a bit disappointed that there were no solid gold faucets or diamond doorknobs, but their mother shushed them. “Just means she’s got more sense than some folks. She sounds like good people, and you can tell her I said so.” Fili thought Galadriel would be pleased at the compliment. 

The party began in earnest when someone produced a bottle of gin to lace the coffee with. “Nope, one is more than enough,” Fili protested when Bofur offered to add another dollop to his cup. “If there’s such a thing as a drinker’s jaw—you know, like a boxer’s glass jaw—I’m pretty sure I’ve got it. Never have been able to drink much, but that just leaves more for the rest of you. Have fun, but remember you’re driving later.”

Miriam was the only other teetotaler, and it was a lively party full of laughter and music. Fili listened and clapped and shouted along with the rest of them, but otherwise kept his mouth shut—any bucket he even tried to carry a tune in was bound to spring a leak. Instead, he watched his friends’ faces, fingers itching to reach for pencil and paper. He settled for taking mental snapshots of everything, filing them away for future reference. 

Bofur pulled out his tin whistle, Bombur kept time on a tabletop with a pair of wooden spoons, and Vanna’s enthusiastic alto rang off the walls. If the odd note slid a bit sideways, no one noticed or cared. At one point Bofur swung into a rendition of “The Irish Volunteers” that had Bifur, a veteran of the Fighting 69th, smiling and tapping along. Jeannie and Elsie gave a step-dancing demonstration that had them all cheering. 

When the noise died down, Bofur turned pleading eyes on his wife. “Would you sing my song, love?” To the others he explained, “This was the song she sang the night we met, and if I hadn’t already been a goner this would’ve done it. Please?” he begged a blushing Miriam, who ducked her head in embarrassment but nodded anyway. Bofur’s whistle went low and sweet, and Miriam’s gentle soprano, tentative at first, lilted as brightly as the smile she sent her husband. 

“That was beautiful,” Fili said when she was finished. “I think I picked up a couple words in it from the little bit of Yiddish I’ve learned over the years—was one of them ‘bread’?”

Miriam laughed. “Yes, it’s a song about bread. So many of our people farmed land for others in Russia, and were forced off the land. This celebrates the harvest, and the bread that is baked from the grain that we grew on our own land. To me, it’s about making a new home, a new life.” She looked at the smiling faces surrounding her. “And it’s about family.” She slid a hand over her abdomen, her face glowing as she locked gazes with Bofur.

Bofur’s jaw dropped as he realized the import of the gesture. “A-are you sure, darlin’?” he finally managed in an awed whisper, taking her hands in both of his.

Miriam nodded. “The doctor said so this morning. I was going to tell you when we got home, but this is good too…Bo, put me down!” she squealed as the cabbie spun her off her feet with a whoop of joy. He set her down gently, and took her face in his hands for a soft, reverent kiss.

“I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again,” he murmured, their foreheads touching. “I’m the luckiest man in the world.” 

“I’ve been wondering for about a month now,” Vanna said after giving both of them a hug. “You had the look, but I didn’t want to say anything. If you need anything, or you have any questions, you come see me, all right? And I’ll bet I’ve got some baby clothes in a box somewhere. I’ll look for them tomorrow.” 

“I won’t need them for a few months yet, so there is no rush, but thank you,” Miriam beamed, then sobered. “You know, now that I’ve finally said it out loud, I’m a little nervous. I’m going to have a baby. It’s a lot to think about.”

Bofur laughed. “You’ll be fine, love. You’ll only have to worry we don’t smother you with all the coddling you’ll get. And I’m going to see about pickin’ up a few extra shifts at work. Babies need a lot of stuff.” He looked over at Fili. “Hope you don’t mind that we stole some of your thunder, lad.”

“There’s more than enough thunder to go around, and this trumps my news any day. Congratulations, or maybe I should say… _mazel tov_? Is that right?” Miriam nodded. “In that case, _mazel tov_ , and if I may propose a toast?” The last of the gin was shared out, and everyone raised their cups. “To families—the ones that are born, and the ones that are made. And to the hearts that have room enough in them for both.”

“To families!” the shout went up. Fili drained his cup, silently thanking whatever power had allowed him to find these people. Bofur wasn’t the only lucky man in the place.

The party wound down around midnight, and Fili left with a bag of leftover sandwiches and a pleasantly buzzing head. He wended his way up sidewalks that weren’t quiet even at that hour, his dress shirt slung over his arm and his tie looped loosely askew around his neck. He garnered more than one odd look, but he didn’t care, smiling and touching the brim of his fedora to all he passed. 

He made his way up the stairs to his flat, carefully avoiding the creakiest places (since every single step in the place squeaked somewhere, it was impossible to be completely silent), let himself in, and tossed the dress shirt into the pile of laundry. Time for another run down to Mrs. McGinnis. He slid his arms out of the coat and hung it carefully, then took the envelope with the pictures and the address to the studio out of his pocket. This he tucked into the top drawer of his dresser. He still couldn’t quite believe it—he probably wouldn’t until he actually went there. That was the second thing on the menu for tomorrow, but something else was going to take top priority.

He undressed down to his underwear and settled into bed with a pen and his sketchbook. It wasn’t the most elegant stationery in the world, but he knew Mama wouldn’t mind as long as the words on it came from her son. 

He nibbled on the end of the pen for a moment, thinking back to the day his life had changed forever. He and Mama had sat side by side at the train station, and Fili was terrified that Dad would show up and create another scene. His ears were still ringing with the shouts and slurs from the night before, delivered by a man whose face was so dark with anger and hatred he barely recognized the father who had taught him to show everyone respect. It seemed the respect didn’t extend to his own son. ‘Faggot’ and ‘pervert’ were the least of it, and Fili had just let him scream, too numb to do anything. It wasn’t until Mama charged in that he was able to fight back. Dad had left the house with a knot forming on his head and a bloody nose, and hadn’t returned all night. 

What Fili had done for the next few minutes could hardly be called packing, more like taking his grief and frustration out on innocent clothes. Mama had finally stopped him and made him sit down so she could tend to his lip, and he chipped some ice into a towel for her eye. 

At the train station, Mama had pressed a roll of bills into his hand—forty-eight dollars in crumpled ones and fives. “Where did you get this?” he asked.

“I’ve been putting it by a bit at a time out of the household money. Figured there’d come a day when it was needed.”

“Mama, I can’t…”

“You can and you will.” Mary’s gray eyes flashed, chin set in a firm line. “I know you’ve been saving up for a while now, but the train’s going to eat up at least part of it. If you don’t need it, send it back to me.”

“I will, Mama, as soon as I can.” He hugged the tiny woman, half a head shorter than himself, then stepped back. “Are you going to be all right? Dad—when he gets back home…”

“I’ll be fine, love. Your Aunt Jennie needs an extra pair of hands at the boarding house; I expect mine will do as well as anyone else’s.” Fili’s face must have betrayed the shock he was feeling. “Your father has never raised a hand to me in anger in his life before, and he’s never going to get the chance to do it again.”

“This is all my fault,” Fili said, swallowing back tears.

“It’s his fault, not yours. I’m not going to say I understand, because I don’t know that I do…yet. But I do know that your father can go to hell. You’re my son, and I know damn well I raised you right. You take that money, get on that train, and you make a life for yourself. And if you need to come home, you know where I’ll be. Write to me when you can, you hear me?”

“Love you, Mama.” The train whistle blew, the conductor shouted last call, and there was one last hasty hug. Then Fili sprinted for the train car, jumping in just before the door slid closed. He looked out the window as the train pulled away from the station, watching her disappear into the distance, shoulders back and a smile fixed on her face. He was only glad he was far enough away that he couldn’t see the tears he knew were tracking her cheeks, twins to the ones that threatened to spill down his own. 

He had always meant to return that money, but every time he got a few dollars ahead, something would happen to take it away again. Now he could finally keep that promise he’d made ten years ago. Smiling, he settled the sketchpad on his lap and began:

_Dear Mama and Aunt Jennie,_

_I know it’s been a while since I wrote, and I hope you haven’t been worrying about me. There’s a lot of news to tell, but first, find enclosed a cashier’s check for fifty dollars. I’m finally sending you back that money with a little interest, and I’m sorry it’s taken so long. Give yourselves something nice with it, you both deserve it._

_A lot has been happening lately, so I’m going to start this tonight and probably finish in the morning. It’s pretty late here. But I had to tell you-- you’ll never believe who I had tea with today…_

An hour passed, three pages were filled with the copperplate script that had been drilled into him by the sisters at St. Monica’s, and still he wasn’t finished. However, his hand was, so it was time to call it a night. Flipping the sketchpad closed, he set it on the stacked crates he used as a nightstand, stretched to take the kink out of his back, and turned off the lamp. A shaft of light from the window fell across the painting of Kili and the kite. Kili would have had a good time at Bombur’s, he thought, curls bouncing and smile bright as he clapped along to the music. Maybe he’d even had joined the girls in their dancing. And they’d have made him feel welcome, just as they had done for a lonely kid from Ohio all those years ago. They were family—they didn’t know how to do it any other way.

Family was a funny thing, he mused as he snuggled under his quilt. The Church taught that it consisted of a man, a woman, and their children, but it was so much more than that, infinitely changeable. Kili’s had been ripped apart by tragedy, and had been rewoven into a new pattern that was different but just as durable and beautiful. Fili’s had been swept away by hatred and prejudice, but the foundation remained, and on it he had fashioned a new family, one that accepted him for who he was, what he was. In a city that could be cold and unforgiving, they were warmth and hope.

And now there would be a new addition. Bofur and Miriam’s little one might not have a fancy place to live or fine clothes, but there would always be love and acceptance, far greater treasures. The excitement of the day finally caught up with him, and his last conscious thought was a wish that the universe would grant that child a lifetime of open arms and open hearts, wherever it ended up roaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short historical notes this time:
> 
> The Fighting 69th--69th Infantry Regiment of New York, also known as the Irish Volunteers and the inspiration for the song mentioned in the story, were established as far back as the American Revolution. They have fought with great distinction in five conflicts -- Civil War, World War I and II, Iraq and Afghanistan. The origins of the regiment were indeed Irish volunteers, and by tradition you become adopted Irish, whatever your ethnicity, when you join.
> 
> Dos Lid Fun Broyt (Song of Bread) is a beautiful piece written by Mark Varshavski of Odessa in the early part of the 20th century. You can find the lyrics here: http://hebrewsongs.com/?song=dos%20lid%20fun%20broyt. And a lovely vocal rendition from the Vancouver Jewish Folk Choir is here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iaFZbVRzIEQ.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili begins working on the portraits of Dis and Vali, and gets inspiration exactly when he needs it most.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, my idea of what Kili's father Vali looks like is essentially Tom Hiddleston, with his natural taffy-colored curls, brilliant smile and Kili's eyes. I can see Dis falling for a sweetheart like him, and when he turns on the acting chops there is no one better.
> 
> Quite a few historical references here again, and I have put a definitive date on the story's timeline and Kili's personal timeline. The gap is closing...

“So what do you think, son?” Gamgee (“just call me Gaffer, evr’body does”) asked.

“I think I might just move in. This is way nicer than my place.” Fili set down his portfolio, took off his cap and looked around. The studio appeared to take up most of the top floor of the building and had to be a couple hundred feet on a side. He thought it might have been a warehouse or factory at some point, but somewhere along the line a bank of north-facing windows had gone in, letting in lots of natural light. Along one wall there was a cluster of lockers that looked like the ones in his old high school. A couple of them already had masking-tape markers on them. Part of another wall was taken up with shelves holding paints, paper, all manner of drawing materials, brushes and cleaning supplies. Folded easels leaned next to a stack of canvases ready to be prepped and put to use. An assortment of small tables and chairs were placed around the edges of the room. “I’m pretty sure I’ve died and gone to artist heaven.”

Gamgee laughed. “Well, that’s Miss G. for ya; she don’t do anything by halves, that one. Pick a locker, put your name on it, and if you want a lock I’ve got some downstairs. Bathroom is through there…”

“We have our own bathroom up here?”

“’Course ya do—things’d get messy pretty fast if ya didn’t. Ladies ‘n gents’ll have to share, though. There’s a hotplate and coffee pot, and there’s some coffee, sugar, and canned milk in the cupboard next to it. Got a li’l icebox there if ya need it. And there’s a sink for cleaning up your stuff.”

“That settles it—I’m definitely moving in. Can I set up anywhere?”

“Any place that ain’t already taken. Here’s your key, so come and go as you please. And if you need anything you know where I’m at. Enjoy.”

Gamgee clapped him on the shoulder and shuffled out. Fili clipped the key onto his ring, hands trembling with excitement. It had taken two busses and a three block walk, but he was here. The studio was real, which meant the job was real, too. He took two or three deep breaths in an effort to calm down, walked to the cupboard by the hotplate, and took out the coffee. There were a dozen cups, a can opener, and even spoons next to the sugar and evaporated milk. They’d thought of pretty much everything, indeed.

He started a pot brewing, then wrote F. OAKES on a piece of masking tape and attached it to the first unclaimed locker in the row. He stowed his cap inside and then walked over to the shelves and chose a sketch pad and pencil. He sharpened the pencil to a needle point and did some warm up sketches, smiling at the memories from the night before—Bofur and his tin whistle; Miriam’s smile; Vanna’s head thrown back in song. They were rough and unpolished, but it didn’t matter; the point was to limber up his fingers for the real work ahead.

When the coffee was ready, he filled a cup, dumped out the grounds, and turned the heat on low to keep it warm. He chose a table near the windows, laying out the pencil and pad next to the cup. He unbuttoned his shirt and reached inside, pulling out a handkerchief-swathed bundle. It had been too warm for a jacket, and he hadn’t wanted to run the risk of harming the photos Galadriel had given him by shoving them in a pants pocket, so the precious envelope had made the trip across town next to his heart. 

He laid the pictures out on the table, looking at them with a critical artist’s eye. Vali’s face was longer and more angular than his son’s. He was not matinee idol handsome in the mold of a Barrymore or Fairbanks, but there was something better than that, a light that shone even in the monochrome photos. Fili knew he would have loved to see him on stage—to see the eyes that looked so much like Kili’s flash with anger or grow soft with tenderness. He wondered just what color Vali’s hair might have been; the photo made it look dark blond or light brown, but it might have been reddish too. Fili would have to ask someone. His smile was as entrancing as his eyes, wide and bright and so very real, not a bit of stage artifice about it. Fili revised his initial opinion—perhaps Vali Vivirson wasn’t what Mama would have called a ‘pretty boy’, but his wasn’t a face that would be easily forgotten.

Dis was a distaff version of Kili except for her eyes. Her dark curls were caught back with a ribbon, and Fili thought it might have been the exact sort of ribbon that Kili had in his treasure box. He wondered if it might be the same shade of blue as Dis’ eyes. The same proud nose, expressive brows, and determined chin graced both mother and son. Her smile was as luminous as Vali’s, and Fili found himself smiling back. The two of them together on stage must have been every bit as dynamic as Galadriel had said. 

He picked up his pencil and began to sketch, starting with the eyes. He’d learned long ago that if the eyes weren’t right, it didn’t matter how good the rest of the piece was. Conversely, if you captured the eyes, you could fudge a bit on the rest and get away with it. Not that Fili had any intention of fudging anything—the finished product was going to be as close to perfect as his skill could make it.

“Is that coffee I smell? Could I have some? I’m dead on my feet right now.” Fili’s head snapped up and his eyes locked with a pair of vivid green ones. A woman stood in the doorway. She looked to be about Fili’s age, but the long red braid swishing against her back made her seem younger. She moved with a dancer’s grace across the room to the coffee pot, long strides eating up the floor. 

“Help yourself.” The woman didn’t wait for a second invitation—she grabbed a cup out of the cupboard, sloshed in the coffee, and then dumped in so much milk and sugar Fili wondered why she’d bothered with the coffee at all.

“Yeah, I know,” she said, acknowledging the look of near-horror on his face at the desecration. “I love the smell of coffee, and the caffeine is all that keeps me going some days, but I really don’t like the taste all that much. Ma always called it my coffee flavored milkshake.”  
“I can see why.” Fili was having a hard time not gagging at the idea of drinking the young woman’s concoction, but she seemed to be enjoying it. “I’m guessing you’re another one of the artists Miss Gold hired.”

“Tauriel Silvan—call me Teri. I’ll be dam…darned if I know where Ma got the idea for that name, but it’s always been too fussy for me.”

“For what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty, but Teri suits you. Philip Oakes—Fili. Pleased to meet you.” They shook hands. “Which portrait are you doing?”

“I got Maria Amato. She was from my neighborhood. I didn’t really know her, but Ma knows her mother and that gave me an in. Tell you the truth, I’m scared down to my knickers, but I am determined to do this one up brown. It’s important to me, but it’s important to Mrs. A., too. Maria was her only daughter, and she deserved way better that what happened to her. They all did.”

“I know how you feel. I’ve got a lot riding on mine, too, and not just because of me.”

“Who did you get?” She glanced over at the photos, and her eyes went wide. “You got the Vivirsons? How do you rate?”

“Someone saw one of my pieces and liked it, and I got a phone call.” The barest bones of the truth, but truth it was, and it saved Fili explaining further.

“Well, you grabbed the brass ring, you lucky stiff. Still, I’m not about to complain. There are artists all over this city who’d kill to be in our shoes right now, I bet. A paying gig, and one that’s going to be seen by lots of people. And look at this place! Not a bad deal. So it’s time to start earning my keep. Hope the caffeine and sugar start to kick in soon.”

Teri rinsed her cup in the sink and set it upside down on a towel to dry, then pulled a chair near the window and set up an easel in front of it. She whistled tunelessly as she positioned a piece of heavy cardboard and attached drawing paper to it with masking tape. More masking tape affixed photos of a pretty young woman to the edges of the cardboard. These were rearranged several times, each adjustment coming with a sigh of frustration. If this was what she was like on low energy, Fili was pretty sure he’d have to kill her later; she’d be bouncing off the walls.

He needn’t have worried. Once she settled in to work, Teri was all business and completely focused. Two hours passed to the soft scratch of pencils, the grind of a pencil sharpener, and the occasional fluffy thump of a discarded wad of paper hitting the floor. Most of the latter were coming from Fili’s table. Something wasn’t clicking—the eyes of both Dis and Vali remained slightly off, no matter how hard he tried, and how many times he erased and replaced. What was the problem? This was art 101; he should have been able to do this in his sleep.

Fili tossed his pencil down with a clatter, and caught it again just before it rolled off the edge. Setting it down gently, he stood and stretched, feeling cramped muscles pop. He looked toward the coffee pot, then shook his head. Nope, that wasn’t going to do it. He needed to get out and clear his head for a while.

“Teri, do you know this area?”

“A little.”

“Is there a park somewhere close, or a public garden? Anyplace that’s got some green. I’ve got to get outside for a while or I’m going to start stabbing something.”

Teri thought for a moment. “A couple streets north there’s a playground. Most of it’s taken up with swings and stuff, but there’s some grass and benches there for the parents. It’s not much but it’s green.”

“Sounds great, thanks.” Fili closed his pad, set it in his locker, and retrieved his cap. Teri waved in his direction without looking away from her paper as he let himself out. He chose the stairs instead of the freight elevator, and once he hit the pavement outside he headed north at a fast clip just shy of a trot. This had been his way for as long as he could remember—green had been hard to come by in his part of Dayton, and it was even more scarce in New York, but the sight of it could always calm and refocus him when his thoughts scattered.

The playground was very nearly deserted when he arrived. He touched the bill of his cap to a woman gently rocking a carriage, and she smiled up at him. He thought about his mother, imagining the delight and surprise in her eyes when she opened the envelope he’d mailed that morning. He hoped she’d take his suggestion and do something fun with the money, but past experience told him that wasn’t likely—there was always a bill to pay, a repair or replacement that needed to be done, or someone who needed the money even more than she did. But at least he knew that, whatever she did with the money, it hadn’t had to come out of her pocket, and that gave him a satisfied glow. A man should be able to do that for his mother.

He settled on the grass in the sun, heedless of any stains on his trousers. The young mother rose and pushed the carriage toward the open gate, nodding at him as she passed. He smiled back, then leaned against the fence railing, tipping his cap forward to shade his eyes. The grass was soft, and the sun was warm, and he could feel himself drifting, letting the peace anchor him.

A whoop from the other end of the playground brought him back to earth with a jolt, and he shoved his cap back up. A figure was on one of the swings, his arc so high he was nearly parallel with the top bar. Back and forth he swung, his shout of joy ringing above the noise of the city outside the gate. Fili was reminded of a poem by Robert Louis Stevenson that he’d learned in school—the tableau in front of him was the poem come to vibrant life.

At the top of one arc, the figure on the swing let go of the side chains and flung himself out of the seat. He seemed suspended in midair for a heart-stopping eternity, and Fili worried for his safety. Then he landed, rolled, and rose to his feet in one fluid motion, dusting off his trousers. He turned, heading back to the swing for another go, and stopped dead. “Fili?”

Fili got to his feet and his heart skipped a beat as Kili ran up to him, smile wide and bright. _He said he’d grow up as fast as he could, and he’s done it._ How had this happened? Was he asleep and dreaming this? Long arms that wrapped around him in joyous greeting convinced him he was awake, and he returned the hug. Kili smelled like an odd but pleasant combination of soap, spice, and engine oil, and Fili’s instinct was to hold on and never let go.

Which was why he pulled away first, stepping back from his friend and looking him up and down. “Wow, look at you,” he managed, taking in the slender, sturdy frame, the height that now topped his by several inches, and the face that sported a five o’clock shadow at one in the afternoon. The boy had become a man in a few days’ time, and he was beautiful. The artist in Fili longed for a pencil and paper; the secret heart within him longed for something else he didn’t dare put a name to, not yet, and maybe not ever. He still didn’t understand how this had happened in so short a time, but for right now it didn’t matter. Just being here with Kili was enough. “You got so tall.”

“Yeah, I was having a problem with pants getting too short about five minutes after I bought them for a while. But I think I’ve finally stopped. Wish I could bulk out a little, though; I’m still too skinny.” Kili flopped down on the grass and Fili eased down next to him.

“I think you look great. Tall and elegant—in spite of doing things like jumping out of swings. I’m just glad you didn’t snap an ankle with that stunt. What brought that on?”

Kili laughed. “It’s the next best thing to flying; you should try it.”

“Next best thing, huh? And you’d know this how?”

“Because I’ve done the best thing,” Kili said with a smug smile.

“Flying? When? And I thought you said your uncle would have a fit if you tried it.”

“Oh, he did, but there wasn’t much he could do about it. I saved up my money and signed up for lessons on my twenty-first birthday. And boy, did I get an earful. I love Uncle a lot, and about anything else, I think I’d have given in, but this was my dream, so I stuck to my guns. I’m about halfway to my license.”

“Good for you. Was it everything you thought it would be?”

The brown eyes went honey-gold, and Kili’s face glowed. “Oh, Fili, it’s amazing! You’re in this big metal box with wings that shouldn’t even get off the ground, and somehow it does, and you look down and everything is so small and going by so fast. Up there you don’t see borders, you don’t see what people fight over. It’s just you and the sky and the birds and clouds. When I came down from my first lesson, my face hurt because I’d been smiling so much. The pilot was laughing—he said he lost his lunch the first time up.

“Remember I asked you once what kites thought? Now I think I know. Even if you have to come down before too long, for a while you’re free and nothing can touch you. It’s probably going to be old hat by the time I get to do it, but I want to fly the Atlantic solo like Lindy did. Maybe even around the world one day. And if I have my way about it, I’m going to design and build the plane that I take around the world. “

“I’m betting your uncle has had a few words to say about that, too,” Fili laughed.

“Believe it or not, he’s actually okay with that. He figures that if I want to go up in one of those ‘flying coffins’, I should know how they work inside and out. So it’s been almost four years of math and science and engineering and drafting and design—I want to learn it all.” Fili let out a snort of laughter, and Kili ducked his head, a flush rising in his cheeks. “And you probably think I’m as nuts as Uncle Thorin does.”

“No, I just realized how much smarter you are than I’ll ever be. Even thinking about all that stuff is giving me a headache.” Fili couldn’t tell him that he was enchanted, that he was all too conscious of the warmth of Kili’s shoulder resting against his, soaking up the enthusiasm and life radiating off the younger man. He didn’t say any of this, barely dared to think it. “ And here you are having the your life. Having a dream is important, but you’re going one better—you’re doing everything you can to make it come true. I’m proud of you. I bet your uncle is, too, even if you’re probably turning his hair white.”

“He is. He’s always asking how I’m doing, what I’m working on. If I’m stuck on something, I know I can go to him and talk it out. When I applied to Rensselaer for grad school, he offered to put in a good word for me, being a professor there and all. I asked him not to. If I was going to get in, it would be because of what I could do, not because I was riding his coattails. When I got my acceptance letter, I think he was as happy as I was.”

“And you’re going to change the world one day, I’m counting on that.”

Kili shook his head. “We’re both going to, just in different ways. I can talk about flying and freedom—you know how to capture that feeling and make it last forever. Speaking of freedom, did you ever do that painting you talked about with the kite? The one you wouldn’t let me see the sketches for.”

“I did. It’s not quite finished yet—I brought it over to the studio today to work on later.”

“Studio?”

“Yeah, first time in my life,” Fili said. “I’m sharing with a bunch of other artists; we’re all working on a special project for Miss Gold.” He filled Kili in on the plans for the new theatre. Kili was silent, hanging on every word, and Fili watched the emotions chase each other across his face—sadness, joy, excitement, wistfulness, pride. “And Miss Gold decided that I was the person she wanted to do your parents’ portrait.”

“I’m glad. I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else to do it. How’s it going so far?” 

Fili let out a small sigh. “I don’t know. I’m doing something wrong—I can’t get the eyes right. I took a break to get some air and ended up here. I really need to go back and try again.”

Kili hesitated for a moment, then asked in a near-whisper, “Is it far from here?”

“A couple streets over.”

“Could--could I see? Would that be okay?” The bereaved boy was back, just for an instant, then gone again. “Maybe I can help.”

“Can you?” It occurred to Fili that the only place he’d ever seen Kili before was at the park near his flat, and now he was here in this open playground. What would happen if he tried to move somewhere enclosed? Would he vanish like a dream at dawn? He pushed that crazy idea to one side, adding, ‘I mean, you don’t have to be somewhere else, do you?

“Not for a while. And it would mean a lot to me. They’d want me to help you if I could, I think.”

Despite his irrational fears, Fili smiled. “All right, let’s go.” He stood and held out a hand to help Kili up. Strong fingers slipped into his, warm and feeling so right. Kili rose gracefully to his feet, and his hand stayed where it was for another moment or two. Brown eyes looked into blue with a slight smile, and Kili’s hand gave a tiny squeeze before letting go. Fili forgot to breathe for the space of a heartbeat or two. _Wait for me to grow up…_

Fili led the way out of the playground, half expecting Kili to disappear like Eurydice when they hit the gate. But no—Kili remained a solid presence, chattering about flying all the way back to the studio. Fili let it wash over him, listening to the rich voice with its bright grace notes of laughter. “And that flight Amelia Earhart took last month? That was amazing. I mean, across the Atlantic in fifteen hours? She’d have beaten Lindy’s time to Paris if she hadn’t been forced down by the weather.”

Fili kept the turmoil off his face and out of his voice. That headline-making flight was four years ago for him, but only a few weeks ago for Kili. The gap was still there between them but it was shrinking each time they met. What would happen when it closed? He shut the door on that thought and locked it tight. “Sounds like you’ve got a bit of a crush on the lady,” he teased, opening the door to the studio.

Kili shrugged. “Maybe a little, but it’s not really like that. I’d love to meet her and talk with her, is all. She’d doing what I’m still only dreaming of…oh, wow.” Kili’s voice trailed off as he looked around the studio, eyes a rich amber in the light from the windows. “Have you ever walked into a room and it just…feels good? You’re gonna do great stuff here, I know it.”

“Hope we all will.” Teri’s voice was laced with amusement as she set down her pencil and wiped her hands on a clean rag. “Did you clear out the cobwebs, Fili?”

“Yeah, I think so. And I ran into my friend…” Fili hesitated—how did he explain who this young man was?

“Call me Kee,” Kili said, holding out a hand.

“Teri,” she said, taking his hand in a no-nonsense shake.

“I asked Fili if he’d show me where he’s working. And I used to know the Vivirsons a long time ago.” Fili saw the bright eyes darken with memory, then clear so quickly he thought he might have imagined it. “I hope we’re not disturbing you.”

“Not a bit,” Teri assured him. “I was about to take a break myself. There’s a delicatessen on the corner; I’m going to get a sandwich. Can I pick up anything for you two?”

“Not for me, thanks,” Kili said. “You, Fili?”

“I need to get back to work. But thanks for the offer.”

“Suit yourself,” Teri said. She fished in the collar of her blouse and pulled up a small coin purse on a string, She checked the contents, grinning at the twin sets of raised eyebrows. “Too many sticky fingers around these days to put stuff in my pockets. And anyone going for my money there is going to be singing soprano for a while.” Satisfied, she tucked the coin purse back into her blouse. “See you boys in a bit. Behave yourselves. Oh, and Fili? Would you make another pot of coffee? Yours is way better than mine.”

“How can you tell?” 

Teri stuck out her tongue, turned on her heel and gave a jaunty wave on her way out. Fili put on a fresh pot of coffee as requested then opened his portfolio. Placing the kite painting carefully against the front of the lockers, he cautioned, “Now remember, it’s not quite finished yet…” 

Kili sank to his knees in front of the painting, a furrow between his brows as he studied it. A long moment passed then came a whispered, “Do I really look like that?”

“You do to me,” Fili answered. “Is it all right?”

The smile Kili turned on him was dazzling. “It’s more than all right; it’s perfect. It doesn’t need anything else. Does it have a title yet?”

“I was thinking maybe _Freedom_.”

Kili nodded. “Yeah-- _Freedom_.” He rose to his feet. “I’m honored; thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and thank you for posing for me.” Fili opened his locker and took out the sketchpad. “Now come over here and tell me what I’m doing wrong with these sketches.”

Kili pulled a second chair up to the table by the window. His fingers traced the faces in the photographs for a moment. “I miss them,” came a ragged sigh, and lids closed for a moment over suspiciously bright eyes. A deep breath, two, and then Kili’s eyes opened, composed again. He looked over all the drawings, even the rough warm ups. “I think I see the problem,” he finally said. “You know me, and you know your friends. You know our stories, and that goes into your drawings, even the quick ones. You don’t know Mama and Papa’s stories.”

“So tell me some of their stories.” Fili picked up the pad and flipped to a fresh page, pencil at the ready. “What do you remember best about them?”

Kili’s eyes took on a faraway look. “Mama’s favorite color was blue. Papa always thought she looked so beautiful in it. He was always finding blue stuff to bring her—ribbons, earrings, a scarf all the way from Paris once. She loved flowers, but only in gardens—cut ones just made her sad. The minute you cut a flower it starts to die, she’d say, and that’s a terrible thing to do to something so pretty. When she and Papa retired, she was going to have a garden—something barely civilized, not one that was planned and pruned within an inch of its life. She said she’d had enough of that growing up. And because she and Papa traveled so much they never got to have a dog, so when they retired they were going to have a whole pack, all sizes and colors. It didn’t stop her from saying hello to every dog she met in the street.”

“I can understand that. How about your father? What are his stories?” Fili asked, his pencil busy on the paper.

Kili smiled in pleasant memory. “Papa’s favorite color was red. The only time Mama approved of cut flowers was when he needed a new boutonnière, and it was always red. Papa loved to sing. He wasn’t a Caruso or anything, but it was a good voice for the stage, everybody said. And he made up songs for Mama and me, silly things to make us laugh. I remember one about a giraffe that got loose from the zoo, and ordered a table for two.” Fili laughed, and Kili joined him. “I told you they were silly. And he could tell the best stories. He’d always ask what I wanted to hear about, and no matter what I asked for, he could come up with something. Dragons, knights, submarines like Jules Verne wrote about, even flying to the moon. I always thought that if he ever decided to leave acting, he’d have made a pretty good writer. So, does that help at all?”

“Give me a couple minutes.” There was a frown of concentration between Fili’s eyes, and once again it seemed that the pencil had a mind of its own. Five minutes passed in silence, ten, then Fili tossed the pencil down and turned the pad around so Kili could see. “Is this better?”

Kili reached out, fingers not quite touching the paper, tracing just above the simple lines. Fili watched his throat work as he swallowed down a lump, and then Kili smiled. “Yes,” he said. “Now you know their stories. Tell them to the world.”

“I’ll do my best.”

The studio door opened and Teri came in carrying a paper bag. “How’s it going?” she asked, heading for the coffee pot.

“Better. I think I’m working through the block,” Fili said. “Can you stay a little longer?” he asked Kili. “I’m going to try one more sketch, and I’d like your opinion.”

“Okay.” Fili bent over the pad once again, and they sat shoulder to shoulder. Teri got her coffee and went back to work, but as far as Fili was concerned, they were alone in the room. The world narrowed down to a pool of sunlight, the scratch of the pencil against the pad, and the warm presence of Kili next to him. There was the occasional soft comment from Kili, but for the most part the time passed in silence.

“You’ve got it now,” Kili finally said after about half an hour. “You’re going to do fine, and they’d be so happy. And I have to go now.”

Fili wanted to protest, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good. “I hope you’ll be back soon. Thanks for coming by today. You always seem to show up when I need you the most.”

“Maybe I show up when I need you,” Kili said. “Thanks again for that,” he added, nodding toward the kite painting. “It’s brilliant.”

“You’re sure it doesn’t need more work? I feel like—“

Kili shook his head. “Just sign your name; it’s done. I know it’s hard not to tinker; I’m the same way. But trust me on this.” His hand was warm on Fili’s shoulder. “I really do have to go. Take care of yourself, and work hard. You too, Miss Teri. May I have a look at what you’re doing before I leave?”

“As long as you remember it’s still rough, sure.” 

Kili came around and scrutinized her work, pronouncing it excellent. “And you have a beautiful subject to work with. You’ll do her justice. Very best of luck. I hope to see you again, too. Do your best to keep Fili out of trouble while he’s here, all right?”

“No guarantees, but I’ll see what I can do. Take care.”

With one last dazzling smile for Fili, Kili let himself out, and Fili had to stop himself from running after him. That wasn’t how it worked, he knew that, but it was harder this time letting him disappear from his life. He only hoped that whatever angel had sent Kili his way would see fit to bring them back together soon. _I need him. Holy Mother help me, I need him._ He was in so much trouble…

“He’s quite the charmer, isn’t he?” Teri’s voice cut through his reverie.

Fili laughed. “He always has been, ever since he was a kid.”

“You’ve known each other a while, then.”

A soft smile appeared on Fili’s face. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember when he wasn’t in my life.”

“Have you told him how you feel about him?” Fili’s eyes snapped wide and locked onto hers, but there was only gentle concern on her face. “Let’s just say it takes one to know one. Besides, it’s written all over you when you look at him—and when he looks at you. Want a nickel’s worth of free advice? Don’t wait too long to let him know. I did, and mine ended up with someone else.” Teri’s smile was crooked but sincere. “And that’s enough advice column crap for one day. Let’s both get back to work. Your friend is counting on us.”

Fili sat back down and looked at the sketch. It was good now, and he knew it was going to get even better. He wished he could say the same for his emotions. _I am in so very much trouble._ He took a deep breath to settle himself, picked up his pencil, and got busy. He had a knowledgeable critic to impress, and he was going to knock his socks off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes for this chapter:
> 
> John Barrymore—‘The Great Profile’, scion of an illustrious stage family (and grandfather of Drew Barrymore), he was one of the lucky actors that was able to make the transition from silent films to talkies along with his siblings Ethel and Lionel. Check out the film _Rasputin and the Empress_ to see all three of them in action. A hard-drinking hell raiser, alcohol destroyed his career and his health but not before there were indelible performances like _Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde_ and _Dinner at Eight_ , and his Hamlet and Richard III onstage are still considered the best ever by an American actor.
> 
> Douglas Fairbanks—the king of the silent films, handsome and dashing, and master of stunt work, he set the standard for swashbuckling heroes, with his _Robin Hood, Thief of Baghdad, Mark of Zorro, The Three Musketeers_ , and many others. He and wife Mary Pickford were possibly the first Hollywood power couple, and they, along with superstar Charlie Chaplin and director DW Griffith, founded United Artists studio.
> 
> The Swing—I learned this poem by Robert Louis Stevenson as a song many years ago in my high school choir. Find the full text here: http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/171919
> 
> Charles Lindbergh—‘Lucky Lindy’, arguably the most famous aviator ever, the first man to fly solo across the Atlantic from New York to Paris in 33 hours in May of 1927. His bio would take far more time than I have here, marked by both great fame and great tragedy (the kidnapping and murder of his infant son). Despite his isolationist views on the US entry into World War II, he flew 50 combat missions, and was a prolific inventor, author, and environmentalist.
> 
> Eurydice--According to Greek mythology, Eurydice was the beloved wife of master poet Orpheus. When Eurydice dies from being bitten by a viper, Orpheus goes to the underworld to get her back. Hades allows her to follow him, but only on the condition that he not look back at her. Of course, this being Greek tragedy, he does, and she fades just as they reach the opening to the living world.
> 
> Amelia Earhart—shares space with Lindbergh on the ‘most famous aviator’ list. Her solo flight across the Atlantic made her the first woman to achieve the feat in 1932, exactly five years after Lindy’s flight. An outspoken advocate for women in flight, she was a visiting faculty member for the aviation department of Purdue University. The mystery surrounding her disappearance during an around the world flight in 1937 continues to this day.
> 
> Enrico Caruso—considered the greatest tenor ever by pretty much everyone from critics to audiences to other singers. There are recordings available to listen to online—even with the primitive sound equipment of the day (early 20th century) the power and sheer beauty of his voice still enchant.
> 
> Jules Verne—prolific, imaginative French author and widely considered the founding father of steampunk. With his novels _20,000 Leagues Under the Sea, Journey to the Center of the Earth, Around the World in 80 Days_ , and _From the Earth to the Moon_ , he is also comfortably established as one of the fathers of modern science fiction. And he is the second most translated author in the world, sandwiched in the rankings between Agatha Christie and William Shakespeare.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the end of a long day, and Fili has a few things to figure out...

“All right, that’s it for today,” Fili said, laying the sketchpad on the table and tossing his pencil beside it. “I’m having trouble seeing straight anymore.” He flexed the fingers of his right hand, massaging it with his left. 

“I’m about ready to pack it in for the day, too. How’s yours coming?” Teri asked

“I’ve got two I’d be all right with letting Miss Gold see. Not where I want them to be yet, but they’ll work as an artistic letter of intent, and that’s good enough for now.” Fili stood and stretched, wincing at the sound and feel of the joints popping. 

“Two? I’d be happy with one that I won’t be second-guessing all night and ripping up in the morning,” Teri sighed. 

“What’s the matter with that one?” Fili asked, indicating the drawing still attached to the easel.

“Nothing…and everything. I’m probably just tired and I’ve been staring at it too long. It’s definitely time to call it quits for now.”

“Well, for what it’s worth, I think you’ve got a great start there. You got the eyes, and the smile. Let it settle overnight, and come back to it fresh tomorrow.” 

“You’re probably right,” Teri said. “And like you said, right now I don’t need perfect. Do you suppose I could have a peek at yours?”

“Sure, if you want.” 

Teri came over and paged through the sketches, smiling at the ones of Bofur and his family. “Oh, I like these. I hope you finish them. Wonderful faces. Are they family?”

“To each other, yeah. I’m kinda the stray mutt they started feeding and now can’t get rid of. And I couldn’t ask for better friends or kinder people.”

“You’re a lucky guy…oh my.” Teri had flipped the page to find the drawings of Dis and Vali. Even in the monochrome of black pencil on white paper, there was a beauty and power that seemed to glow. “These are gorgeous.” She flipped one more page and froze. “And just what the he--dickens is this?”

“I couldn’t resist,” Fili apologized. “You standing there, looking so serious, with your hair curled into a bun, and the pencil and paintbrush holding it in place. If that doesn’t say ‘Artist at Work’, I don’t know what does. If you want, I’ll throw it out…”

“No, it’s all right. You made me look good, so you’re forgiven. But if you finish it and sell it, you’d better pony up a modeling fee.”

“Deal.” Fili closed the pad, tucked it into his portfolio behind the precious kite painting, and donned his cap. “It’s going to take me a while to get home, so I’m going to head out. See you tomorrow?”

“Not till later in the afternoon. Ma needs my help with a cleaning job tomorrow morning. The other woman that works with her is going to be out for a couple days, so Ma talked her boss into taking me on. It’s a few bucks extra for us, and it’s not like I haven’t scrubbed a floor before. I’ll get stuff put away and leave soon too.”

“Do you want me to wait for you? I’m taking the 52 bus; I can walk with you.”

Teri shook her head. “I’m going the other way, but thanks. I’ll be fine, the stop isn’t far.”

“Well, don’t work too hard tomorrow. Be careful going home, and I’ll see you when you get here.” Fili picked up his portfolio, touched the brim of his cap in farewell, and let himself out. The light was on in the little office at the bottom of the stairs, and a radio was broadcasting what sounded like a baseball game. It reminded Fili that he’d intended to stop and pick up a lock for his locker. He raised his hand to knock on the half-open door and was startled by a loud, “Holy mother of pearl! What the blazes is going on?”

“Everything all right, Mr. Gamgee?” Fili asked, poking his head around the door.

“Yeah, son, it’s fine, aside from I’d like to knock a few heads together right now. The White Sox just got run number twelve off the Yanks. Twelve! Are they all asleep out there on the field?” Gamgee snapped the radio off. “It’s just getting too sad to listen to. What can I do for ya? And I told ya to call me Gaffer.”

“Sorry, Mr.—Gaffer. I wanted to ask for one of the locks.”

“Oh, sure, here ya go.” Gamgee reached into a drawer and tossed Fili a small padlock with a key dangling from the shackle by a safety pin. “Don’t lose the key, we’ll have to break the lock to get ‘er off.”

“I’ll try not to.” Fili detached the key and fitted it onto his ring. The ring was getting crowded these days—he was becoming a man of substance in spite of himself.

“How’s it going up there? You folks got everything you need?”

“Well, at the rate we’re going through coffee, we’ll probably need another can before too long, but for right now I think we’re all right. We’re feeling a little spoiled.”

Gamgee smiled. “Like I said, Miss G. don’t do anything by halves.”

“Sounds like you’ve known her for a while.”

The old man nodded, his gaze suddenly a thousand miles away. “Better part of twenty years. I used to be the doorman at the old Erebor before she burned down. I was lucky—I was out sick the night of the fire, first time in ten years. I ain’t ashamed to say I cried like a baby when I heard what happened. Miss Dis and Mr. Vali, and the fireman, and those folks from the audience, just out to have a good time. And little Mary Jean. I’m glad Mr. Greenleaf and Miss G. are doing this. They all deserve to be remembered.”

“Yes, they do. And we’re all going to do our best for them,” Fili promised.

“I’ll hold you to that.” The distant look left Gamgee’s eyes and he smiled. “And I’m sure you got better things to do than listen to an old man wander down memory lane. Get yourself home—I bet you dollars to donuts you didn’t eat today, did ya?”

“Matter of fact, I didn’t. How did you know?”

“Artistic folks are all the same—you get involved in what you’re doing, whether it’s acting, writing, painting, you forget the rest of the world is out there. Miss G’s dresser makes sure there’s food in the dressing room for her and makes her eat it, or I swear she’d live on coffee while she’s working. I’ll see about getting in some fruit or something up there for all of you. Mind you eat it and don’t just let it rot.”

Fili laughed. “You sound like my mother.”

“Four kids and seven grandkids, son. Wait’ll you have a few of your own; you’ll sound the same way. Now get on outta here.”

“Good night, Gaffer.” Fili turned toward the door as Gamgee turned the radio back on and fiddled with the dial. The sound of a comedy program followed him out, and Fili smiled as the old man’s chuckles joined the laughter from the audience. 

It was a long three blocks to the bus stop, and the 52 bus was crowded. He managed to snag a seat at the back, only to give it up two stops down. The woman, already visibly tired, had drooped even further seeing there were no more seats, and she reached for the hand strap that hung near Fili, shifting from one sore foot to the other. That was something Fili was not about to let slide. “Ma’am? I’m fine to stand if you’d like this seat.”

Her eyes went wide. “I—I couldn’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Fili could feel surrounding eyes staring at him. A man giving up his seat to a woman was polite, even chivalrous. A white man giving up his seat to a Negro woman? That just wasn’t how it was done. To hell with that, and to hell with them. Except for the color of her skin, this woman could be his mother, or his aunt, just as hard-working and just as much in need of respite. “I don’t have that much further to go, and my mama would have my head if I sat and let a lady stand. Please.” He rose, ushered her past him to the seat, and tucked his portfolio between his legs so he could grab the overhead strap. He braced himself against the jolts of the bus and exchanged a tired smile with the woman. Prejudice might not have the backing of law here in New York, as it did in other parts of the country, but it was alive and well all the same.

When the bus reached his transfer stop, he touched the brim of his cap to the woman, picked up his portfolio and worked his way up the aisle to the door. Cool blue eyes met the bus driver’s frown squarely before he stepped down into the street. He might get passed by the next time he tried to board the bus, for a woman whose name he’d probably never know, and that was all right. Mama would be proud of him.

A half hour wait, and another ride on another bus, not so crowded this time. He was dozing in his seat and nearly missed his stop. His seat mate’s volcanic sneeze and trumpeting nose blowing shocked him to full awareness just in time, and he prayed that whatever the man had wasn’t contagious. The last thing he needed right now was to get sick. Leaving the bus, he made a stop at the grocery for a new jar of peanut butter and a fresh loaf of bread. On impulse he also picked up some oranges, a small jar of honey, and a box of tea bags. He really didn’t like the stuff, but Mama swore by tea with honey when he had the sniffles as a child, and some habits were hard to break. He couldn’t argue with the results—whether due to her home remedies or his own tough constitution, he threw off complaints faster than most of his peers. It was what Mary Oakes called ‘chicken soup medicine’—it might not help but it certainly couldn’t hurt.

A blast of heat slammed into him as he unlocked his door—it had been a hot day, and the place had been closed up tight. He threw open the window, praying for a breeze, and made a mental note to tape newspaper over the skylight in the morning. As much as he loved the extra light while he was working, the reflected heat could be literal hell in the summer. He peeled out of his sweat-soaked shirt, tossing it in the general direction of the laundry, and grabbed his last pair of clean boxers. He laid these on the lid of the toilet, and the rest of his clothes were deposited on the floor of the bathroom. A visit to Mrs. McGinnis was definitely on the books for morning.

The cool water felt good on his overheated skin, revitalizing his body and awakening his brain. He scrubbed until his skin tingled, then got out, toweled off, and slipped on the underwear. If he’d been going straight to bed, he would have foregone the boxers and just given any neighbors who happened to be looking a free show. But he still had a bit of work to do, and he wasn’t comfortable doing that naked. 

He noticed the square of paper on the floor when he came out of the bathroom, overlooked in his haste to get the room aired out. He opened it and grinned. In Gimli’s unique shorthand was the message: _Call gallery AM, what happened with visit?_ In all the excitement, he had neglected to let the Riordans know. That would be rectified as soon as possible, and he’d even have the bonus of new work to show them. 

A peanut butter sandwich and big glass of water silenced his stomach, and he followed that with one of the oranges, savoring the tangy sweetness. He washed his hands thoroughly, then took the sketchpad out of the portfolio and laid it on the table. He paged through the sketches he’d done. A smile tugged at his lips when he looked at the one he’d done of Teri—that one needed to be finished at some point. And if he never did it for any other reason, the ones of Bofur and Miriam would be polished up and given to their child as a christening gift when the time came.

Fili lingered over the ones of Dis and Vali. As much as he wanted to continue working on those tonight, he owed it to them, and to their son, to go back fresh in the morning. Instead, he picked up a pencil and created a new sketch, working from the image that refused to leave his brain. Kili’s face as he looked at the kite painting and asked, “Do I really look like that?” The intensity in the eyes, hair curling slightly over his ears, strong jawline shadowed in stubble. Line followed line, then came the touches of color. Brown and gold blended to the shade of good whiskey in the eyes; flecks of bluish highlights in the hair; the palest suggestion of rose on the lips; the olive skin hinted at on brow and cheekbones. 

The end result, much like the original subject, was compelling, and made Fili’s heart do a slow roll over in his chest. He remembered the strength of the arms around him, the warmth of the hand in his, the smile like Christmas morning. He sat back in his chair with a sigh. He wanted so much, but men like him seldom got what their dreams conjured. There had been a boy back in Dayton, but Fili hadn’t heard from him since he’d left home. Maybe he’d found someone else, maybe he’d decided to hide behind a wife and family, maybe he’d just chosen to forget Fili ever existed. He hoped that, whatever path David had chosen, he was happy. 

Since coming here, he’d gotten used to taking care of his needs alone. It wasn’t as though there weren’t opportunities—in a place like New York, you could find anything if you knew where to look. But as a rule, love didn’t really enter the picture. Mostly it was encounters under false names or no names at all, meant to relieve a physical need but never touching the heart. Fili had tried that when he’d first come to the city but found that it only made the longing worse. What he wanted couldn’t be found in a bathhouse or anonymous hotel room. So he kept to himself, and had succeeded in locking the feelings inside. Until today. Today, when Kili came to him, tall and beautiful, like every dream he’d ever had made achingly real.

Could it be true what Teri had said, that Kili felt the same? Fili wanted to believe that, more than anything. _Wait for me to grow up…_ But there was still the mystery of who and what he really was, and why he kept winking in and out of the artist’s life. Until he could solve that, a friendship would be all there was. He would not let his heart be shattered by wishing for more.

Would that be enough? If he did figure out the riddle, and Kili didn’t return his feelings, could he be content with a friendship and nothing more? He looked at the portrait, and a gentle warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the temperature. He’d already been given so much—Kili was his muse, his inspiration, and a friend like he’d never had before. If he could just see Kili from time to time, it would be enough.

Turning back to the sketch of Teri, he worked on that for a while. She had a wonderful face, strong and striking. This one would require color in its final stages--with her snapping green eyes and vivid auburn hair, she looked like a woodland sprite. He toyed with the idea of doing her in a fantasy setting, perhaps a warrior with a bow in her hands, but decided against it. She was a creature of the modern world, her pencil and brush the only weapons she needed. 

It was nearly midnight before the flat finally cooled down enough for Fili to consider sleeping. Flipping the sketchpad closed, he turned out the lights and pulled the shade down to the edge of the open window. A breeze rippled cool against his skin, and he shucked out of his boxers before climbing into bed, laying them over a chair. First thing in the morning, laundry would be taken care of, then he would take a trip down to the GalleRi. After that, he’d see where the day took him. 

He closed his eyes, and the vision of Kili’s face, excited and animated as he rhapsodized about flying, swam into his inner vision. He shoved the sheet back and let his hand stray down, imagining a larger hand, warm and willing, in its place. It wasn’t long before his back was arching off the bed, teeth digging into his lower lip to silence the cry that wanted to escape. When the aftershocks faded, he forced his eyes open, staring up into the moon-dappled darkness. This was hardly his first fantasy—more than one screen idol had paid him an imaginary visit in the past--but it had never felt like this before. So much for friendship being enough. Well, no matter what he might want, he could keep that to himself, too. What Kili didn’t know wouldn’t hurt either of them.

He stood on rubbery legs and headed for the bathroom to clean up. He didn’t turn on a light or look in the mirror. It wasn’t that he was ashamed—in the darkness and solitude, he could pretend just a little longer. 

He went back to bed, pulled the sheet up to his waist, and thought of a firmly muscled arm pressing against his. If he closed his eyes, he could almost hear deep, steady breathing next to him. He let himself drift off, the excitement of the day drowned in the sheer exhaustion. His last conscious thought was, _I am so completely sunk…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes this time, short and sweet:
> 
> The ball game mentioned was a real one. June 4, 1936, the Chicago White Sox trounced the New York Yankees 16-3, one of the worst defeats on record. 
> 
> The summer of '36 was also record-breakingly hot, and this was pre-air conditioning, so Fili's little top floor flat would probably have been even worse than I painted it here.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Not even a cold can get in the way of good news--the future's so bright he's gotta wear shades...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again my apologies for the length of time between updates -- it's the holidays, and I work retail; 'nuff said. I hope to get back on track and be a little more punctual from now on... Anyway, thanks for sticking with me!

“Hey, Fili, are you feeling okay? You don’t look so good.”

“Not feeling so good, Gimli. I need a can of the Watkins chest rub and a bottle of aspirin.” Fili fumbled his handkerchief out of his pocket just in time to intercept a sneeze. He’d woken to a scratchy throat and pounding head after a restless night. Tea generously laced with honey had helped reduce the ground-glass feeling in his throat, but his chest was tight and the aching was progressing through the rest of his body. This was not a good time to get sick—not that there ever was a good time. He had work to do. 

“Summer colds are the worst, aren’t they? Want me to ask Uncle Oin if he’s got something better? There might be something you don’t have to see a doctor to get.”

“I don’t think it’s that bad.” _At least I hope it’s not._ “This should take care of it, but thanks. Oh, throw in a box of Smith Brothers, too. The menthol ones.”

“Here you go,” Gimli said, sliding the items into a bag and ringing out the sale. “Did you find my note yesterday? What visit are they talking about? The guy from the gallery  
sounded pretty excited over the phone.”

“I’ll tell you when I don’t feel like I’m going to fall over.”

“Sure thing. Hope you feel better soon.”

“Me, too.” 

Back at his flat, Fili put water on to boil, stripped off his shirt, and smeared the Watkins salve on his throat and chest. The pungent menthol and camphor evoked a memory of his mother spreading it on him when he was a child, and of his protests over the smell. But it had always made him feel better. He hoped it would work its magic once again. 

The ointment made a mess of his chest hair, but there was nothing he could do about that, short of shaving it all off. He’d done that once, after losing a bet, and never did it again—the itching as it grew back had been infuriating. He tucked a towel around his neck and pulled an undershirt over it to hold it in place, then brewed his tea. He peeled and ate another orange while he waited for it to steep, wincing as the bits slid past inflamed tissues. It hurt, but he needed something in his stomach.

He shook four aspirins out of the bottle and downed them with a mouthful of tea, then held the next sip of hot liquid in his mouth for a moment. The heat did seem to help, and the icy-hot sensation from the Watkins assured him that it was doing its job. He finished his tea, rinsed out the cup and set it to dry, then stretched out on the bed. His mind wandered to Kili, and he wondered what he was like when he got sick. Was he quiet and stoic, working through the ailment and never letting anyone know? Was he a complainer, making everyone around him ready to kill him to put him out of his misery—and theirs? Fili imagined him falling somewhere in between—admitting to not feeling well, but laughing it off until he was alone. Then Fili could just imagine the sort of cursing that would go on. How dare a cold get in the way of his reaching for the stars!

At the thought of Kili’s outrage, Fili started to laugh, which turned into a coughing fit that left him breathless for a moment. He lay with eyes closed, and the ache subsided. He let himself drift back to sleep—he had things to do, but they weren’t going to get done if he didn’t shake this.

When he woke an hour later, he wondered for a moment if a fever had been added to the litany of misery. No, the temperature in the flat, not his body, was climbing again. The tightness in his chest had loosened, and his throat felt less raw, so he was improving. It was time to do something about that skylight. Sighing, he levered himself out of bed and dug a roll of masking tape out of his art supply stash. A triple layer of newspaper blocked the light and, he hoped, the heat, and he climbed down off the chair, sweat soaking the towel still around his neck. He stripped and tossed everything onto the laundry pile. A fast shower and shave and clean clothes made him feel more human, and so did the rest of the honey spread on two thick slices of bread. Stomach satisfied for now, he washed the stickiness off his hands and got busy. 

He stripped the bed, piled the laundry into the sheets, and tied the corners together into a bundle. As he turned away from the bed, his gaze fell on the sketchpad still resting on the table. After a moment’s thought, he slipped the sketchpad into his portfolio, hefting it in one hand and the laundry bundle in the other. Dropping his load in the hallway, he locked the door behind him, ready to face whatever the day had in store. He knew his muse wouldn’t expect anything less of him.

“Never mind the chicken soup, laddie—a few good shots of whiskey will set you to rights in no time,” Mrs. McGinnis assured him when he dropped off the laundry. “And even if it doesn’t, you won’t care all that much.” Her peal of laughter dragged a reluctant grin out of Fili. “Is tomorrow morning all right for the laundry?”

“That will be fine, thank you. And here’s a little extra for the rush—I should have brought it down before, but I’ve been a little busy.”

Mrs. McGinnis’ eyebrows climbed to her hairline for an instant, then the bills disappeared into the pocket of her apron. “Well, I won’t insult you by saying no. You take care of yourself, and mind you get a good dinner inside you. You’ll feel worlds better.”

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Fili shook his head as he left the building. What was going on with everyone demanding that he eat lately? If anything, he’d actually gained a few pounds in the last month. Clothes that used to hang on him were now starting to fit the way they were supposed to. If he kept this up, he’d be buying a new wardrobe soon. It was a pleasant thought that he could truly afford a few new things now, or at least things that were new to him. A smile stretched his face as he ran for the bus, slapping the door to be let in just as the driver was about to pull away. He found a seat, settled the portfolio between his knees and the back of the seat in front of him, and let his mind drift into vague daydreams of the future. And in all of them there was a pair of whiskey eyes, and an angel’s smile, and dark silk curls.

\----

“It’s odd—this one feels a little…unfinished,” Dori mused as he scrutinized the kite painting. Fili felt the tension bleed out of his shoulders when the gallery owner looked at him and smiled. “And that’s how it should be. It’s the nature of freedom to be unfinished, to never have an end. Brilliant artistic choice there, my boy.”

“I’m glad you approve.” Fili was not about to tell him that a wiser head than his had made the call—he didn’t think Kili would mind him taking the credit this time. “So would you be interested in this one?”

“Yes and no,” Dori said, leaning back against the counter and folding his arms across his barrel chest. “Your work has been generating a lot of interest lately since the word got out that Galadriel Gold bought some of it. We made a good profit on the other pieces we bought from you. Good enough that I hesitate to offer you a price on this one, because what we could afford for it wouldn’t be fair to you.”

“I’m not sure telling me that is good business.”

“Maybe not, but it’s the way I’ve always done it. Honesty has never let me down yet. What I propose is this—we’d like to be your agents on this piece. We can give you two hundred as an advance against the final sale, and we’ll do our very best by it. Seventy-thirty split after the two hundred is passed. What do you say? Are you up for a gamble?”

“Sounds like it’s more of a gamble on your part than mine.” Two hundred was already far more than he ever thought he’d see for one painting. The Riordans were his friends, and Fili didn’t want to be responsible for them losing money if the painting didn’t catch a buyer’s interest. “Are you sure you want to risk it?”

”I’m not worried. Like I said, the word is getting around about you. And this piece is very good. If we get even two clients into a bidding war over it, the sky is the limit.”

“B-bidding war?” Fili squeaked, and the strain brought on a small coughing fit, stifled by the handkerchief. Ori dashed to the back and brought back a glass of water, which he gulped down gratefully. Once he caught his breath, he rasped out, “Are you serious?” 

“Absolutely serious. I foresee very good things for this painting. And let me remind you that you agreed to give us right of first refusal. Deal?”

“On one condition. The seventy-thirty split isn’t going to work.” Dori’s eyebrows came down in a frown, which cleared as Fili continued, “I’ll agree to a fifty-fifty split after the two hundred, not a nickel less. We can discuss other arrangements on other paintings, but that’s my last word on this one.” He held out a hand. “Agreed?”

Dori huffed out a laugh and shook the proffered hand. “Agreed. And you say I don’t know how to do business. You’ve just potentially cost yourself a good bit of money.”

“Time will tell on that, but I know right now I’ll sleep better.”

“So, enough business. Tell us about Galadriel!” Ori begged, eyes as bright as a kid on Christmas morning. Fili spent the rest of the afternoon going over the visit in detail, pausing when one of the brothers needed to deal with a customer or a delivery. He told them of the commission and pulled out the sketchbook to show them the pencil portraits of Dis and Vali, and the sketches of Teri and his friends. His voice was hoarse by the time he was finished, but telling the tale finally anchored it firmly in reality. This adventure was happening, and he was a part of it all.

What he didn’t tell them about was Kili, nor did he show them the portrait he’d done the night before. That had been done for himself, and it was a precious secret. Fili didn’t want to share him with anyone else, not just yet. Never mind that Teri had met him—she still didn’t know who he really was. The real Kili, at least the one Fili knew, was his and his alone. A small part of him was also afraid that, if they saw the portrait, they would see too much, just as Teri had. That was also something he needed to keep to himself for at least a while longer.

It was near closing time when he finally stood in front of the doors of the bank, precious check tucked deep into his pocket. He’d ridden the entire way there on the bus with his hand clutching it, afraid it would disappear or be stolen. He walked into the shadowed lobby, filled out a deposit slip, and took it to the window. Lindir smiled as he approached, looking cool and composed as ever despite the heat. “Welcome back, Mr. Oakes. Another deposit? Business must be good.”

“Very good, thanks. Could I get twenty in cash, and a fifty dollar cashier’s check also? Oh, and would you have a piece of paper and an envelope?”

“Of course.” Lindir processed the transaction, chatting about the heat wave. He handed over the passbook and check, counted out the cash in singles and fives, then slid a sheet of bank stationery and a stamped envelope over the counter. “Is there anything else we can help you with today, sir?”

“Nothing else, thank you. Have a good day, and stay as cool as you can.” Fili pocketed the cash and passbook and took the paper and envelope over to a table. He wrote his mother’s address on the envelope, then wrote on the stationery: _Dear Mama, letter to follow, a lot to tell you. But for now, this is for you. And tell Aunt Jennie I didn’t rob a bank—things are going well right now. Love to you both, Fili._ He folded the note around the check and slid it into the envelope, sealing it. Back out in the rising heat, he popped it in a nearby mailbox and caught the bus for home. His head was starting to pound again and the chest tightness was back. It was time to call it a day.

The grocery near his flat had a small deli case at the back, and Fili bought some thinly sliced corned beef and a small jar of mustard. He added a jar of honey and some canned soup to the basket. He had promised Mrs. McGinnis that he’d have a good dinner tonight, after all. He drew the line at her suggestion of whiskey being the cure for all ills, however, chuckling to himself as he toted his purchases up the creaking steps.

His flat was still hot, but not as unbearable as it had been last night—covering the skylight had made a marked improvement. After throwing the window open, he put the spare set of sheets on his bed, then set about making his supper. He divided the corned beef between two sandwiches, slathered the mustard on both, and heated a can of chicken noodle soup on the hot plate. When everything was ready, he set the food on the crates next to the bed and stripped down to undershirt and boxers. He plumped his pillow the best he could, and settled it behind his back against the rickety headboard. He switched on the lamp, reached into the crate, and pulled a well-worn book off a stack stationed there. _Treasure Island_ was always one of his favorites, and he’d lost count of how many times he’d reread it over the years. It had so many elements he loved—adventure, pirates, sailing the high seas, and of course finding treasure. 

He read and ate and was surprised to find, as he turned the last pages of the book, that the sky outside had gone dark. He took his dishes to the sink and washed them, then brewed one last cup of tea and honey, using it to wash down more aspirin. A last visit to the bathroom, another coating of Watkins on his chest, covered by his last towel and undershirt, and he was ready for bed. 

The noises outside his window were muffled by the three-story climb—what would have been raucous or strident on the street mutated into an urban lullaby. With a stomach full of comforting food, tea and medicine to soothe his aches, and the happy thought of the check winging its way to his mother, Fili slipped into sleep. There would be a new day tomorrow, and his adventure was only beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short historical notes this time out:
> 
> Watkins Menthol Camphor Vapor Rub has been around for generations, since the mid-1800s (betting if you're from the US, your grandmother's mother had some in the medicine cabinet) It's exactly the thing Fili's mom would have used (my mom was a Vicks Vapo Rub person, but that hadn't become popular until later than this story is set)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just another day at the office...well, studio...and there is a celebration.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you're wondering, Idris Elba is making a guest appearance in this chapter as Matthew Jacobs. My notes at the end give only a very brief overview on the Harlem Hellfighters -- go look up their Wikipedia article if you want to be jaw droppingly impressed.

Fili woke early the next morning, but didn’t open his eyes right away. He took a deep experimental breath, then another, and smiled. The chest tightness was nearly gone, and there had been no coughing to jolt him awake during the night. Once again Mama’s cure had done the trick—he’d have to let her know when he wrote the next time. He opened his eyes, threw back the sheet, and swung his legs over the edge. A cool breeze wafted toward him from the window, and he looked out at a cloud cover that didn’t seem to threaten rain, but did block the sun enough to make the temperature in the flat bearable again. 

He wanted a shower, but with the only towel he had left smelling of the Watkins chest rub, that wasn’t going to happen. So he washed the best he could at the sink, using the top sheet from the bed to dry himself. Mama would have had a fit if she’d seen him, but until he got his laundry back he didn’t have a lot of other options. He pulled on the trousers he’d worn the day before, and found a shirt that was rumpled but clean. He left off the undershirt, which also carried a strong odor of camphor and menthol from the rub. He felt slightly underdressed without it, but figured if it had worked for Gable, it was all right for him just this once. He needed a shave, but that too would have to wait. 

Bread and honey and canned fruit were washed down with two cups of strong coffee, making Fili feel almost normal. He read the day-old paper, killing time until he deemed it a reasonable hour to present himself at Mrs. McGinnis’ door. The ball game Gaffer had been listening to had turned into an even bigger disaster for the Yankees in later innings, ending with a score of 16-3. Fili could just about imagine the creative language the old man must have used when he read the account. He took care of the dishes, then donned his boots for the trip downstairs. They weren’t really comfortable without socks, but he wouldn’t be wearing them that way for long. 

Back upstairs a few minutes later, Fili deposited the neatly pressed and folded laundry on his bed and headed into the bathroom. Shower, shave, and teeth were taken care of in record time. He stepped into fresh boxers, and pulled a clean tee shirt over still-damp hair. A blue shirt that had been wash-faded to nearly white and a worn but still intact pair of trousers completed his ensemble. If he got paint on any of it, he didn’t care. Socks and boots went on, and a clean handkerchief joined the money in his pocket. 

Before he slid the sketchbook into his portfolio, he flipped the pages to the portrait of Kili. He wished he could share the news about the painting with him, if only to listen to him laugh and say _I told you so,_ watch the mutable brown eyes dance. Kili did have the most beautiful eyes. They could slide from sweet warm honey, to a whiskey he could cheerfully get drunk on, to sinfully rich chocolate. Just how dark could they get, he wondered…and yanked the brakes on that train of thought before it could get up a good head of steam. He shook his head with a grimace--boy, did he have it bad. He took a deep breath and blew it out to steady himself. Now was not the time to indulge--he had places to go and things to do. He closed the sketchbook, tucked it into his portfolio, and grabbed his cap and keys. Armed for battle, he was ready to face the long bus ride and the new day.  
____

There was no one in sight when Fili walked into the studio, but an easel and sketchpad positioned to take as much advantage of the light as possible showed that someone was there. Music was coming from a radio that hadn’t been there the other day—Fili guessed Gaffer had added that to his shopping list for the studio. He stowed his cap in his locker and headed for the hot plate. The coffee pot was warm but nearly empty, so he dumped the dregs and the grounds to set up a fresh pot. Opening the cupboard, he found a fresh can of coffee next to the nearly-depleted one, There was also a box of assorted fruit on the counter, along with some saltines and beef jerky. Gaffer had been busy. And he wouldn’t have to worry about lunch now.

Fili munched on a strip of the dried meat as he waited for the coffee to perk, and looked up as he heard the bathroom door open. A tall Negro filled the doorway, wiping his hands on a paper towel. One of the man’s eyebrows cocked up, along with a corner of his mouth. “Hello.”

Fili swallowed his mouthful and wiped his hand on his pants before holding it out. “Hi. Philip Oakes. Fili.”

The man hesitated a moment, then shook Fili’s hand, his smile spreading a little wider. “Matthew Jacobs. I see I’m not the only one trying to get an early start today.” He had an accent that Fili couldn’t quite place, New York by way of Britain and perhaps somewhere in Europe. And something about his name rang a bell in Fili’s head, but the memory stayed just out of reach. “I hope you don’t mind my turning on the radio. What rattles around inside my head sometimes isn’t the best company.”

“I understand that. Just as long as you don’t yell at the ball game like Gaffer did the other day, it’s fine.”

Matthew grimaced and shook his head. “That pasting the Yankees took? That was a mess. I tell you, if they’d had Satchel Paige on the mound, there’s no way the Sox would have even gotten a hit.”

“From the stories I’ve heard, I’d believe that. Anybody that can go toe to toe with Dizzy Dean and not give an inch is somebody I’d love to see pitch one day.”

“Someday you’ll get to see him. There’s no way the white teams can keep him out forever. Is that coffee ready to go?”

Fili took two cups down from the shelf, filled them, and handed one to Matthew. “I saw your easel set up—whose portrait are you doing?”

“The fireman, Mulcahy. Seems Mr. Greenleaf saw some of my work a while back and liked my style. ‘Bold and heroic’, he called it. I’ll give him the bold part…oh, the redhead was right, this is good,” he interrupted himself after a sip of the coffee. “Anyway, I like color, and life, and action, and if that’s what he wants, that’s what I’ll do my best to give him.”

Pieces fell into place in Fili’s memory. “Wait a minute…you said Mr. Greenleaf saw some of your work a while back? Was it about three or four years ago, an exhibition in that gallery on 74th?” Matthew nodded. “I remember your work, it was amazing! Everybody else with black and white or watercolors, and then there was yours, shouting, ‘Pay attention to me!’”

Matthew threw back his head and laughed, nearly spilling his coffee. “I’m just glad it shouted loud enough to make Mr. Greenleaf pay attention and remember me. This is a big break for me. I’ve been away for a while, and it’s hard getting a foot back in the door.”

“Where did you go?” Fili asked, sipping his coffee.

“I needed to get away from the city for a while, so I hopped a French freighter and worked my way over to Paris. Got to _parlez-vous_ some of that _français_ that I picked up during the war, and cleared out my head. And I found out a Harlem Hellfighter never has to buy a drink where there are servicemen.” His smile was bright against his dark skin. “It’s a beautiful place; I hated to come back.”

“So why did you?”

Matthew shrugged, the smile fading. “For everything that’s wrong with it, New York is home. I’ll always come back—more fool me.” He downed the rest of his coffee and refilled the cup. “Thanks for this. Now it’s time for me to get to work.”

“Me too. Looking forward to seeing what you can do.” 

Matthew took his coffee cup back to his easel, set it on the floor, and picked up a piece of charcoal. There was a deep V of concentration between the dark eyes, as if he could will the image into being. If only it were that easy, Fili thought as he set up another easel and took his sketchpad out. He flipped to the sketches of Vali and Dis and studied them for a moment, then looked once more at the photographs. He remembered what Kili had told him, and the black and white photos bloomed with color in his imagination. He could see the vibrant blue of Dis’ eyes, and the matching shade of the ribbon in her hair. He could see how the red carnation glowed in the buttonhole of the dark suit Vali wore. 

Fili began jotting notes along the bottom and sides of the sketch. This portrait needed the nostalgia of pastels – soft cream, gold, sepia, pale rose – with pops of arresting color to draw the eye. And perhaps just a suggestion of the garden Kili had said they had dreamed of, worked into the background. It needed to remind the world that these people had been alive, had loved and been loved, and were still remembered and missed after all this time. It was a tall order, but he knew now he could fill it. 

Two hours went by in silence, broken only by street noises trickling in from the open windows, and the music from the radio. Fili caught himself humming along with a song at one point, and glanced over to see if he was disturbing Matthew. But the big man didn’t seem to notice—Fili wasn’t sure if anything short of a car crashing through the door could break his concentration.

It wasn’t a car crashing through the door, but rather Teri’s noisy entrance, that broke the stillness. She had a white box in her arms, and kicked the door shut behind her with a sharp bang, getting both men’s attention. “Put some more coffee on, Fili – I’ve got goodies!” she announced, setting the box on a table and lifting the lid to reveal a round, icing-drizzled coffee cake and a dozen assorted Danish pastries. 

“And just in time for lunch,” Fili said, surveying the bounty. “Whose bakery did you hold up?”

“Ma got these from one of the people she cleans for, leftovers from a brunch thing. The woman wanted them out of the house or she’d sit down and eat them all. Ma said to bring them here.”

“Tell her we said thank you; they look great.”

“Where were you yesterday?” Teri asked, setting up her easel.

“Out sick. Figured you’d just as soon not listen to me trying to cough up a lung.”

“Now that was a mental image I didn’t need,” Matthew muttered as he came out of the bathroom with a handful of paper towels, laying them on the table next to the box.

“Sorry,” Fili said. “I don’t think I’m Typhoid Mary, but I’ll do my best not to touch anyone else’s stuff for the next day or two just in case.” 

“Hey, I survived two snot-nosed little brothers last winter, I think I’ll survive you,” Teri said.

“And…Ihadtoseemyagentaboutapainting,” Fili murmured. He thought he was only loud enough for the coffee pot to hear, but Teri’s sharp ears picked up the key word.

“Agent? How long have you had an agent?” she demanded.

“Honestly? Since yesterday. You know that kite painting I had here the other day?” Fili filled them in on the details. “Probably nothing more will come of it, but even if it doesn’t, my bank account is a lot happier now. And just maybe Mama will break down and do something ‘frivolous’ like get herself and Aunt Jennie new shoes.”

“If she’s anything like my mother, I wouldn’t hold my breath. More likely she’ll get shoes for the neighbor’s kids instead,” Matthew said with a grin.

“Yeah, that sounds like my ma, too. Except it would be something for me and my brothers. I don’t remember the last time she got something new for herself,” Teri said. “Well, I’m so jealous I could spit, but it’s great to see someone I know make good. And now I’m really glad I brought this stuff in; this calls for a celebration. Get that coffee finished up and I’ll start serving. Who wants what?” Teri asked, brandishing a pristine palette knife.

The coffee cake was dense and buttery, and as good as anything Fili had ever had, with the exception of Vanna’s magnificent strudel. He made himself eat slowly and savor each bite. Teri had no such qualms—she disposed of a cheese Danish and a chunk of the cinnamon and nut-encrusted coffee cake in short order, eyes sparkling with delight. Blueberry was Matthew’s flavor of choice; he alternated bites of his Danish with sips of coffee, precise and methodical. 

When they’d all eaten their fill, they each took on an assignment. Fili made a fresh pot of coffee, Teri stowed the remaining pastries in the icebox with damp paper towels nestled inside the box, and Matthew swept up crumbs and used towels and put them in the trash. “Last one out tonight, make sure this goes to the can outside. I found out the hard way in the army—if you don’t take it out, you get things coming in after it.”

“And that was a mental image I didn’t need,” Fili said, envisioning battalions of rats, roaches and worse invading the studio. He suppressed a shudder, remembering one of his first flats in the city, a room in a rundown boarding house whose only virtue had its price. As clean as he tried to keep his area, the other tenants and the landlord were not so diligent, and there was a never-ending infestation. He still had dreams about the place. Masters was a bastard in many ways, but he did insist on a clean building. “Thanks for the celebration, but it’s time to get some work done.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes:
> 
> The reference to ‘it worked for Gable’ is from the film _It Happened One Night_ , a classic comedy from 1934. It swept up the top four Oscars that year – picture, director (Frank Capra), actor (Clark Gable) and actress (Claudette Colbert). The scene in question has Gable and Colbert sharing a motel room, with Gable taking off his shirt to reveal there is no undershirt beneath it. According to Hollywood legend, undershirt sales plummeted overnight (and this may well be apocryphal)
> 
> Leroy ‘Satchel’ Paige—one of the greatest pitchers ever, denied entry to the major leagues until after Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in 1947. In 1948, at a time in life when most pitchers would consider retiring, he became a rookie with the Cleveland Indians after a show-stopping career in the Negro Leagues. The pitching duel mentioned did happen more than once – Paige faced off against ace hurler Dizzy Dean in crowd-pleasing exhibition games. Witty, flamboyant, and insanely talented, Paige was as ready with a quip or a quote as he was with a fast ball. He was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1971.
> 
> Harlem Hellfighters—the 369th Infantry Regiment was an African American and African Puerto Rican regiment in World War I, and earned their nickname from the Germans they faced and never gave a captured man or an inch of ground to. Their name among their French compatriots, to whom they were attached during the war, was the Men of Bronze. They faced racism from their American comrades, but the French treated them like any other soldiers, and had nothing but praise for their exploits. Some famous veterans of the Hellfighters include Benjamin O. Davis Sr., the first African American general in the US Air Force and commander of the Tuskegee Airmen, tap dancer extraordinaire Bill ‘Bojangles’ Robinson, great Puerto Rican composer Rafael Hernadez Marin, and George Seanor Robb, one of only 44 Americans to receive the Congressional Medal of Honor in World War I.
> 
> Typhoid Mary—Mary Mallon, a cook, was an asymptomatic carrier of typhoid, infecting at least 50 people, three of whom died (the total may be higher). Put in quarantine twice, she denied being responsible since she herself was never sick with the fever.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The artists get a visit from Galadriel, and Fili gets a visit from Kili.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, a long delay for a new chapter -- I'm not going to say I'll do better with the next one, but I will try. This chapter marks the end of Act 2, if you will -- the succeeding chapters will finally begin to solve the mystery. Thank you for bearing with me this long, and I intend to pick up the pace just a bit.

Life settled into a pattern over the next couple of weeks. Except for a few days when he filled in at Bombur’s place, Fili was at the studio, leaving his flat early in the morning, and coming back late in the afternoon. A shower, supper, a book and usually a dreamless sleep followed. Now and then there were vague, pleasant dreams of a bright smile and laughing eyes, and these always made him wake with a smile of his own. They made him feel as though Kili was watching over him, approving and encouraging his work. Once or twice the dreams had taken a more sensual turn, leaving him both unsettled and exhilarated. Those mornings he was grateful for the long bus ride that allowed him time to get himself together mentally. Although Teri did give him more than one appraising look when she thought he didn’t notice. 

He met the other two artists involved in the project. Bjorn Nordstrom was massive enough to make Matthew look slight, but the lines produced by those huge hands were delicate and sturdy as spider silk. His subject was Joseph Svenson, the other audience member killed in the fire. “He was a good man, was Joseph,” he told them, his Swedish accent turning the J into a Y sound in the man’s name. “Good friend, good boss. Built good houses, made to last. I make a good picture, people will remember him.” It was one of the rare times he smiled, and it was a wonder to behold. 

Loretta Suggins-Brooks taught art and design at a local college, and usher Mary Jean Scott had been one of her students. “You know she got that job just to be close to the theatre,” she’d confided to Fili over a fussy china cup that she’d brought from home, along with her own tea blend. “She wanted to be a costume designer—kept hanging around backstage whenever she could, learning anything they’d teach her. She always dressed like a movie star and you’d never know it was remade second-hand.”

It was rare that all five were in the studio at the same time. Loretta taught her classes at various times during the week, Matthew had a part time gig at the docks, and Bjorn’s job occupied his daytime hours. So often, interactions consisted of quick hellos and goodbyes in passing. But it happened that all five were hard at work in the studio when their visitors arrived on the fifteenth. 

The studio door and the windows had been opened to allow for some cross ventilation, and it was still warm. Out of respect to the ladies, the men all kept their shirts on, but sleeves were rolled up and buttons undone as far as decency allowed. Teri had taken off the oversized shirt she used as a smock, her hair up in a messy bun, paying no attention to the spatters of paint decorating her short sleeved blouse. Even the fastidious Loretta had pinned her hair out of the way, ruining what was obviously a carefully prepared coiffeur.

“Matthew, take a look at this for me, tell me what it needs,” Teri called, swiping a stray hair out of her eyes and leaving a dab of topaz watercolor on her cheek.

Matthew popped his head around the edge of his easel. “Needs more color,” came the reply as he retreated back behind the wall of his artistic fortress. Fili bit his lip to hold back a laugh at the affronted look on Teri’s face. 

“How do you know? You can’t see it from there!”

“I think everything needs more color.” A dry sponge sailed across the studio, smacking against the back leg of the easel, and Matthew stood up. “All right, all right, I’m coming. Women,” he muttered with a wink toward Fili. “Can’t live with ‘em, can’t legally kill ‘em.” 

“Funny; my wife says the same thing about men,” Bjorn rumbled, a small smile quirking the corners of his mouth, his gaze never leaving his work.

Teri stepped back so Matthew could get an unobstructed view of her work. “I like this part, but I’m not sure about here.”

Matthew’s gaze examined each piece of the portrait. “You want my two cents, it really does need more color. Pull her out of the background. It won’t take a lot, but a bit in the right places will make a difference. Maybe some red or brick in there, along the edges…”

Fili turned his attention back to his work. Those two were better than dinner and a floor show sometimes. Matthew and Teri’s bickering was nearly constant, but always gentle, and there was an undercurrent of mutual respect. Teri wasn’t too proud to ask for advice from the more experienced artist, and Matthew was never too busy to give it. It saddened Fili to think that, outside this safe haven, Matthew could have gotten into serious trouble for even speaking to Teri, let alone banter with her the way he did. The frown between Loretta’s eyes telegraphed her disapproval, but she was always polite if stiff, and had the good grace to keep her opinions to herself. It was possible that she simply didn’t approve of men and women being so informal with each other, but he’d noticed that Loretta never initiated a conversation with Matthew the way she did with the others. He wondered what she’d think if she knew about his own little secret and let out a small sigh. This was the twentieth century, not the Middle Ages—why couldn’t people have figured out how to just get along by now? 

There was a knock on the doorframe and Galadriel asked, “May I interrupt?” A chorus of assent greeted her, and she came in with Elrond in tow. The manservant deposited a large picnic hamper on a table as Galadriel continued, “I won’t keep you long; I see you’re all busy. But I wanted to give you all your first retainers myself, and see how everyone was getting on. And please, don’t take this as me trying to rush you—I just love seeing works in progress, and watching them grow into what they’re meant to be. Loretta, may I start with you? That is a lovely gown you’ve drawn Mary Jean in; it is one of your designs?” 

“This was one of hers—Miss Durin was interested in a couple of her sketches, and I thought it was appropriate to draw her in one of them.” 

“Dis would have looked beautiful in that.” There was a touch of sadness in Galadriel’s eyes, but it disappeared in the next instant. “And I love that you chose to have her at her drawing table. Excellent instincts there, dynamic without being overpowering. Mary Jean is in good hands.” Galadriel smiled, pressed the envelope with the retainer into Loretta’s hand, and moved on. Fili watched as Loretta opened the envelope with delicate care, and thought it might well get framed when she got it home. He couldn’t blame her.

Bjorn had been sitting in front of his easel and rose as Galadriel came over. “I see you went with a less formal pose, too. Was this how he looked every day?”

“Never saw him without that hat. His wife, she tried to give him others, but he always went back to that one. Stubborn man, was Joseph.” There was fondness in the big man’s voice. “His brother did the books; Joseph was like you, wanted to watch it grow.”

“So that’s why he has bricks and lumber surrounding him. What’s that he’s working on? It looks like he’s carving a horse.”

Bjorn nodded. “He always left a Dala horse in the house for the new family for luck. Made lots of those in forty years. Always by hand, like his grandfather in Risa, and always from the scrap lumber from the new house.”

“A true craftsman,” Galadriel said. “I look forward to seeing this completed.” She handed him his envelope and he inclined his head in thanks, tucking it into his pocket without opening it. Fili knew that Mrs. Nordstrom would be the one to open it when he got home.

“Oh my, this is excellent!” Galadriel exclaimed when she saw Matthew’s work. “Thranduil called your style ‘heroic’ and I see he was right.”

Matthew shook his head. “Any man who goes into a burning building time after time to save others certainly is heroic. If my style reminds people of that, all to the good.”

“And again, not a formal pose.”

“Firemen don’t pose, they work; it would feel wrong to show him any other way.”

“I agree, and so would Thranduil. Well done.” Galadriel gave him his envelope and Matthew took a bit of masking tape, attaching it to the corner of his backing board. Inspiration, perhaps? Fili wondered. If so, he certainly understood the feeling.

“You’re working in watercolor already,” Galadriel noted as she surveyed Teri’s work. “Will you use that for the final product, do you think?”

“I’m not sure yet, but I like doing sketches in watercolor. It helps me get an idea of what’s really going to be involved in creating the finished piece. Pencils just don’t have the same feel to them that a brush does.”

“Sound logic. And I like what you’ve done here with the dark red—subtle but just enough color to really make this stand out.”

“Thank you,” Teri said, and Fili suppressed a laugh when Matthew mouthed ‘told you so’ in her direction. She waited until Galadriel had turned away to stick her tongue out at him, then slit her envelope open to look inside. There would be a nice dinner out for the Silvan family that night, Fili knew—Teri had told him her plan for the first retainer, and that Ma and Pa had both protested ‘wasting’ the money. Fili had only known her for a few weeks, but even he knew better than to try to change her mind once it was made up. 

“I see you got the photographs that Bella sent over,” Galadriel said, indicating the pictures carefully attached to the backing board. “I hope they were helpful.”

“Very, and thank her for me.”

“You may be able to thank her yourself. She’s asked if she might come by one day and take a look at the portrait, and I told her I would see how you feel about it.”

“There’s not that much to see yet, but she’d be more than welcome. If she wouldn’t mind talking, I’d love to know more about them. I’m here most days, but if she wants to make sure, just have her ask Gaffer before she comes down.”

“I will. How did you know Dis’ color was blue? And that Vali preferred carnations for his boutonniere?”

 _Because their son told me._ Not something he could say out loud. “You told me her eyes were vivid blue, so it seemed like a good guess with her dark coloring. And as for the carnations, they’re my favorite. They don’t cost much and they last longer than roses. There’s something really sad about wilted flowers.”

“Dis felt the same way. I knew you were the right choice for this.” Long slender fingers squeezed his in thanks as she handed Fili his envelope, and her smile would have been payment enough. Not that he was about to turn down the cash, of course.

“You are all amazing. I promised I wouldn’t keep you long, but we’ve brought lunch for you. Nothing fancy, sandwiches and cookies and such, but it’s a small thank you for all your hard work. I hope you enjoy it.”

Elrond was lifting covered plates out of the hamper and setting them on a table. Egg salad, beef, chicken and salami filled the sandwiches, and there were plates of cookies and pastry, and a whole blueberry pie. Plates, napkins, and forks were at the bottom. “If I might recommend the strudel, the recipe is superb,” Elrond said with a tiny wink at Fili. 

“Celebrian got Vanna’s recipe?” Fili asked Elrond as the others gathered round the table.

“She did, tried it immediately, and she was in a pout for two days because of it,” Elrond confided. “However, her pride survived, and now she’s added it to her repertoire, telling people that ‘a dear friend’ gave her the recipe in strictest confidence.” 

“Not sure if it’s safe to tell Vanna that; there’d be no living with her,” Fili laughed.

“Celebrian has also made me promise that we will go to your friends’ café for dinner one night. I may never get her out again.” 

“Yeah, that’s a real possibility; I can see those two getting on like gangbusters.”

“Aren’t you going to join us, Miss Gold?” Loretta asked, noting that Galadriel hadn’t picked up a plate. “I’ve brought tea if you’d prefer that to coffee.”

“Thank you, Loretta, but no. As much as I’d rather stay here, I have a meeting with Thranduil and some investors for the new theatre. All smiles and glad handing and so very dull,” Only Galadriel Gold could make an eye roll elegant. “However, thanks to you it won’t be so horrid, because I can’t wait to tell them what I’ve seen today. I hope you all enjoy your lunch. When you’re finished, just pack the plates and utensils in the hamper and give it to Gaffer. Oh, and do keep in mind that we’ll need more art for decoration in the theatre, so if you have ideas, feel free to sketch those out, too. Thank you all again, and I’ll be back to see you soon.” A glowing smile set her eyes alight, and she made eye contact with each of them before sweeping out the door with Elrond in tow.

“Wow. I want to be her when I grow up,” Teri said after swallowing a mouthful of egg salad.

“Me, too.” Fili didn’t realize the words had come out of his mouth until everyone else’s head had swiveled in his direction. He bit into a piece of strudel to keep anything else from falling out of his mouth, feeling his ears blaze. Where the hell had that come from?

Teri was fighting to keep a straight face and losing the battle. “Fili, honestly, even with the blond hair, I don’t think you could pull off pink the way she does.”

“Yeah, blue is more your color. And the heels would kill you,” Matthew added, but his amusement was tempered by sympathy. “But I see your point; I think she’s got that effect on everyone.” 

Fili’s brain finally unfroze and he spluttered, “C’mon, honestly, who wouldn’t want to be her? She lights up a room when she walks into it, you’re the only person in the universe when she’s talking to you, and she’s just so, well, nice. Who else would think to bring us lunch? If that’s not someone to pattern yourself after, I don’t know who is. I’d love to be a fly on the wall at that meeting,” he added with a grin. “She’s gonna take those investors like Grant took Richmond. But, you know, with more smiles and less bloodshed. And I’ll just shut up and eat my strudel now,” he mumbled, stuffing another piece of the flaky pastry into his mouth, barely tasting it (and Vanna and Celebrian would both have a fit if they knew that).

Teri, with a gentle pat on his arm, came to his rescue by changing the subject. “Are any of you going to try to do other pieces? I’ve got a couple ideas. Matthew, I’ll bet you do, too.”

Matthew nodded thoughtfully. “Could be, but I’d like a second opinion. Loretta, you’re an art teacher; would you have a look at something later, see what you think?” 

From the full on smile, Fili was guessing that pleasure won out over the surprise that had arched her carefully penciled eyebrows. “I’d be delighted, Matthew. I think we all should present some ideas to Miss Gold, perhaps each bring in something for the others to look at? We’d have to figure out a time when we’re all here.” Fili caught Matthew’s eye and gave him a nod of approval. Trust the big man to find a way to storm the barricades without firing a shot.

Lunch was reduced to crumbs amid chatter about ideas for other work and a date for the proposed critique. Fili plowed his way through several sandwiches and some of Celebrian’s cookies, glad that the attention was off him. He didn’t allow himself to think about his blunder until much later, on the bus ride home. 

There amid the city traffic noises and the smell of overheated bodies and gasoline, he chewed over what he had said. As badly as it had come out, he did want to be like Galadriel—confident, charismatic, a comet blazing through the universe. And this surprised him because he’d never had any desire for any of that. Until recently, moderate success as an artist would have made him happy, enough to keep him fed and clothed and sheltered, keep him in supplies and allow for the occasional small extravagance. The idea of reaching for more, wanting to make a real name for himself, would have been an alien concept just a few months ago. 

Now, he wanted more than those modest dreams. He wanted to be someone that others would look up to, who would turn heads on the street, cause whispers of, “That’s Philip Oakes, the artist! Did you see that painting of his at the Met? Astounding!” He wanted to be able to sweep into a gathering and have every eye on him, see his name in the papers headlining a new high profile exhibition. 

And he wanted all of this so he could see the pride sparkle in a beautiful pair of brown eyes, see the brilliant smile, hear the excited voice say, “I knew you could do it, Fili!” He wanted to see those long clever hands pasting a new article into a scrapbook, helping him stretch a new canvas, manning the controls of the plane that would take them both cross country or across the ocean to a new showing. 

He wanted to make Kili proud, to be worthy of having someone so special in his life. _“We’re both going to change the world,”_ Kili had told him, and it was up to him to hold up his end. His friend believed in him, and that was enough of a reason to dream big. Whether his feelings were reciprocated or not didn’t matter.

The day had finally cooled down some, and the shadows were lengthening. After the magnificent lunch, Fili wasn’t hungry, so there was little point in spending money on supper. And while he knew he should get back to his flat and put his money away, the thought of going back there didn’t appeal at all. Besides, the money was safe enough for now--—he’d taken the precaution of pinning the envelope to the inside of his boxers before he left the studio. He starting walking aimlessly, and wasn’t at all surprised after a few minutes to find that his feet had taken him to the edge of the park. Nor was he surprised to see the dark-haired figure seated on a bench, hunched over and looking down, elbows on knees. Of course he was there—he was always there when Fili seemed to need him most.

Kili’s sleeves were rolled back, the shirt was sweat-stained, the trousers rumpled, and Fili didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so beautiful in his life. He’d read a quote by some Frenchman once: “The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing.” There was still so much he didn’t know about Kili, but at last he admitted to himself that none of that mattered. His heart had found a home, whether the door to that home was open to him or not.

They were alone in the park—most people were on their way home from work, or already home and preparing supper. Fili stood for a moment, just watching the way the fading sunlight played over Kili’s dark curls, casting a glow around him. As always, the artist wanted to capture the scene, black and white with a golden wash. He filed the image away in his memory for later. He watched Kili raise his head and notice him, and the sheer joy he radiated hit Fili with an almost physical force. Teri’s words came into his mind: _“It’s written all over you when you look at him—and when he looks at you.”_ For the first time he allowed himself to see it, believe it, and his heart sang. 

A hug, warm and all-encompassing, was his greeting, and at that moment Fili would not have cared if the park had been full of other people. He lost himself in it and didn’t pull back this time, letting it go for as long as it would. “I knew you’d come,” he heard Kili’s voice in his ear. There was happiness, and there was something else. Relief? Maybe it was as Kili has said the last time they’d met—he came when he needed Fili most. 

Kili finally loosened his hold and stepped back. He hadn’t gained any more inches in height, Fili saw, but the last of the coltishness was gone--broad shoulders filled out the shirt. More time had passed for Kili; there were laugh-lines around his eyes now, and a new confidence in his stance, the kind that only comes with time. 

He saw something else, too. Deep in those amber-brown eyes, there was a sadness. And Kili seemed tired—not so much physically as spiritually, like something was sapping his soul. “Are you all right?” he asked, trying to keep his voice even and not sure if he succeeded.

“I am now.” Kili’s smile was valiant, and to another pair of eyes, eyes that didn’t know that smile intimately, it would have passed muster. “I didn’t want to bother you while you were working, so I thought I’d come here, and maybe I’d get lucky and you’d come by. And you did. Can you sit with me for a while?”

“Of course.” They settled on the same bench Kili had been sitting on before. With a boldness he’d never had before, Fili reached out and took one of Kili’s hands in his. He was rewarded with another smile, a sincere one this time, and a firm squeeze of his fingers. “So what’s going on that you needed to see me so badly? Not that I’m not happy you’re here, but now I’m starting to worry.”

“I really just wanted to see you, talk to you for a while.” Kili’s other hand came up and covered Fili’s. There was a smudge of what looked like engine grease under one nail, and a small burn, nearly healed, on the back. 

“What about?”

“Anything. Tell me about the studio. How’s your work going? You said there would be a bunch of artists working with you. Who are they?”

“You’ve already met Teri. There’s also Matthew, and Bjorn, and Loretta. And a more mismatched lot you’d never be able to find.” Fili described his fellow artists—Matthew’s vibrant use of color and his teasing camaraderie with Teri; Loretta’s fussiness and her delicate tea cups; Bjorn’s quiet stabilizing presence and rare flashes of humor. Kili listened, a small smile playing around his lips, his gaze never leaving Fili’s face. Fili added in Gaffer’s outrage over the Yankees’ trouncing, which made Kili laugh. “Don’t know what we’d do without Gaffer—he keeps us in coffee and toilet paper. And he pretty much thinks Miss Gold walks on water. We all do.”

“How could you not? She’s a lady, through and through. How is the painting going?”

“The work is going really well. Miss Gold saw everything for the first time today. We each got our first retainer, so I’m loaded right now.”

“Nipping at Rockefeller’s heels, huh? How do you like that?”

“I like it fine, but I keep thinking Miss Gold is going to walk in one day, decide I’m not good enough, and replace me. And yeah, I know I’m being a dope.”

“Good; it saves me from saying it,” Kili said, bumping Fili with his shoulder.

“I think I’m still getting used to the idea of actually starting to be a success. You know that kite painting? You were right—leaving it alone was the way to go. I took it to the GalleRi and they’re acting as my agents now. I guess they’ve got a couple people interested in it, from what Ori told me the last time he called. I hope it sells for a lot—not for me, but because they’ve already got two hundred bucks invested in it. Yeah, they gave me an advance of two hundred dollars,” Fili said, grinning at the way Kili’s eyebrows shot up. “Can you believe it?”

“Yes, I can. But didn’t I tell you it was something special?” Whatever had been bothering Kili seemed to have been submerged for the moment—there was nothing in the whiskey eyes now other than happiness and pride. “So when do you expect an answer?”

“I don’t really know how this works, so I’m not sure. Wonder if I should call them, or wait for them to call me? I don’t want to sound like I’m being pushy or anything.”

“You’re not being pushy,” Kili assured him, long fingers tightening on his for a moment. “I say give them a call, I’ll bet they’ll understand.”

“I’ll think it over. So how about you? Did you get your pilot license? Have you flown the Atlantic yet?”

Kili laughed again, and the warmth in Fili’s middle spread through the rest of him. “I’m a ways away from being able to do that, but yes, I got my license. And I’m still planning to build a plane of my own. That’s going to take money I don’t have yet, but I’ve been putting a little away every payday for over two years now. Professor Fundinson offered me an assistant position with him right after grad school, so I’ve got a steady job even if it doesn’t pay a lot.”

“A steady job is nothing to sneeze at these days.”

“No, it’s not. And the Professor is tough, but the man has forgotten more about mechanical engineering than I’ll ever know. I’ve learned so much from him, and I’m so very lucky to have him as a mentor. We’re working on an airplane design together that’s got some really interesting innovations…”

Kili launched into a description of the new design that for the most part went right over Fili’s head, but it didn’t matter if he understood or not. He just watched Kili’s animated face as he talked, heard the passion and excitement in his voice. The wide shoulders straightened, and the long fingers disengaged from his for a moment to sketch his vision in the still air. Fili’s brain snapped images and filed them for future reference, his heart full to bursting with pride of his own. Kili was chasing his dreams as hard as he could, and he’d catch them one day soon, Fili knew it.

“The Professor said we might be able to patent some of the ideas, maybe even get someone like Howard Hughes interested. I don’t know if that’s possible, but it’s something to shoot for,” Kili concluded, his hand closing back over Fili’s, as naturally as if it had always been there. They sat in their own small pocket of space and time, the slanting rays of the sun illuminating the quiet park around them, and Fili wished he could freeze this moment forever.

All too soon, though, it was over. Kili gave his fingers a final squeeze and the tinge of sadness was back in his eyes. “I don’t want to go, but I have to.” He stood up from the bench and pulled Fili in for another hug. “And thank you for being here today.”

“My pleasure, any time.” 

The hug lasted for several moments, then Fili felt soft lips press against his cheek. His eyes flew wide, and a startled intake of breath had Kili stepping back, looking flustered. “I’m sorry,” he stammered, not meeting Fili’s eyes. “I shouldn’t have done that.” He started to turn away, but Fili’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“I’m glad you did.” Fili’s hand traveled up to brush the shadowy stubble beginning to form on Kili’s cheek. He tilted Kili’s face so their gazes locked, and his smile coaxed an answering one from the taller man. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, any time,” Kili said with a wink, echoing Fili’s earlier words He laid his own hand over Fili’s for a moment before giving the fingers one final squeeze and turning to leave. “Don’t forget to call about the painting, all right?”

“I won’t.” Fili watched as Kili exited the park, his hand reaching up nearly of its own accord and touching the spot on his cheek where Kili’s lips had been. Such a little thing, but it made the perfect ending to a good day. His steps were light as he made his way back to his flat. 

That night Kili visited him again, this time in his dreams. They were still in the park, but instead of his cheek, Kili’s lips grazed against his own, butterfly-light and sweetly electric. There was no apology in Kili’s eyes this time, no hesitation. Fili leaned into the kiss, letting him know that this was what he wanted, too. It seemed to last forever, in the way that actions in dreams often did, but could not have gone on more than a second or two. Kili finally broke the kiss and turned to go. After a few steps he turned back and asked, “Fili, would you do something for me?”

“Anything,” Fili said, and even in his dream-state he meant it with all his heart.

Brown eyes locked onto blue. “Come find me.” The words were hardly more than a whisper, but seemed to ring in the air. “I came to find you; now you need to find me.”

Fili woke in the washed out light of dawn, the words echoing in his sleep-clogged brain. Dream it may have been, but it felt more like a vision, a portent of things to come. The urgency in that plea, _“Come find me,”_ tore at his heart, but he had no idea what to make of it. And _“I came to find you”_ made even less sense. 

Fili turned over in bed and tried to go back to sleep, but it was soon evident that wasn’t in the cards. With a sigh, he scrubbed his hands over his face, sat up, and set about facing the new day. He had a promise to keep, and work to do. The mystery of the dream would have to wait a bit longer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes for this chapter:
> 
> Dala horse, or Dalecarlian horse, is a traditional folk art piece from Sweden. The craft goes back to at least the early 1600s and centered in the villages of Bergkarlås, Risa, Vattnäs, and Nusnäs.The most coveted ones are still the old-school handcarved ones, and they often sport a bright painted pattern. They have become the national symbol of Sweden, and are considered to be wonderful good luck and prosperity charms.
> 
> Blaise Pascal is the ‘Frenchman’ who penned the quote that Fili remembers: ‘the heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing’. He was a French mathematician, physicist, inventor, writer and Christian philosopher.
> 
> John D. Rockefeller – see the note on him at the end of chapter 2
> 
> Howard Hughes probably needs no introduction to anyone in the world (think Howard Stark but with some severe quirks). Billionaire, aviator, film producer, inventor, ladies man, all around genius, and later in life famous recluse, there have been a host of books, films, TV shows, and characters based in whole or in part on the man.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a day of surprises for Fili -- some good, some...unsettling....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe it's taken me this long to update, and I would promise to do better next time, but I can only promise that this story will NEVER be abandoned! It is planned out, and will be finished! Thanks to all who have hung in so far, and I hope I've got your interest with this last bit!

Fili made good on his promise to Kili, calling the GalleRi first thing the next morning. Ori answered the phone. “Yeah, we did sell that painting. We hoped to do a bit better, but you know how things are these days. Can you come by after six tonight? Dori will have your check ready. Just don’t be too disappointed, okay?”

“Just tell me you three didn’t lose money,” Fili begged. “I swear to you, if it went for less than the advance, I’m holding Dori down and making him take it back.”

“Oh, I’d pay money to see you try. And I’ve got a customer, gotta run. See you tonight.” And Fili was left with the dial tone buzzing in his ear, and unease churning in his gut. Keeping his mind on his work at the studio that day was hard, and time seemed to drag. He decided to work on some ideas for extra pieces instead of continuing with the portrait. The Vivirsons deserved nothing less than his best efforts, and in his current mental state, he knew he couldn’t guarantee the quality of his work.

By the time four o’clock rolled around, he had several sketches roughed out, and he was actually pleased with a couple of them. He tucked them into his portfolio for the long bus ride back to his flat, anxiety gnawing at the back of his mind the whole way. He changed into clothes that weren’t covered in paint spatters, stuck some money in his pocket, and boarded another bus. He was as ready as he would ever be for whatever awaited him at the GalleRi. If he had to make good on his threat, he’d do it somehow. His friends would not take a financial hit because of him.  
______

Fili blinked several times, hoping that what he was seeing on the piece of paper in his hand would start to make sense. “I thought we agreed, a fifty-fifty split after the advance was met.”

“So we did, lad,” Dori said, “and that’s what you’ve got there. You’re not saying we’re trying to cheat you, are you?”

“God, no! It just seems like you’ve got at least one too many zeros here. There’s no way this can be right.”

Dori laughed. “I’ll bring out the bill of sale to prove it if you like, but I assure you, I am quite good at arithmetic—my teachers always said so. That is accurate to the penny. I told you if there was a bidding war, there was no telling how far it would climb. We had a three way battle going for over a week, and every time I thought we’d hit the limit, one of them would raise the bid.”

“Tell you the truth, I haven’t seen Dori have this much fun in ages,” Nori said, shooting a grin at his brother. “He played them like Heifetz plays the violin; it was a beautiful thing to see. Made me want to grab the popcorn and settle in to watch the show every time he got on the phone.”

“I was simply doing what a good agent is supposed to do—looking out for the interests of my client,” Dori huffed, then a smile spread over his own face, making him look like a mischievous schoolboy. “But I have to admit, it really was fun playing them against each other. And even more fun was taking our share to the bank for deposit. And look at it this way—now you won’t have to hold me down and make me take the advance back.”

Fili’s jaw dropped, and his gaze shifted to Ori, who was trying to hide a smile of his own. “You…I could strangle you. Do you know what kind of things you had me thinking all day today?”

“I know, and I’m so sorry I had to do that.” To his credit, Ori really did look contrite. “But Dori made me promise I wouldn’t tell.”

“And I’ll bet you didn’t even have a customer when you hung up on me.”

“Yes, I did, and I was so glad. If I’d been on the phone with you another two seconds, I’d probably have spilled the beans and ruined the surprise.”

“I don’t think ‘surprise’ comes close to covering it,” Fili said, looking at the check again. “You’re really sure there’s no mistake?”

“Positive,” Dori assured him. “I told you I foresaw great things for that painting. Congratulations. And I think this calls for a toast. Nori, would you go upstairs and get that bottle out of the icebox?”

“Do you know what this means?” Fili asked, holding up the precious piece of paper. “This, here in my hand, is a year.” The brothers looked confused, so Fili explained. “This money will give me a whole year of breathing room. A year of not having to worry about keeping a roof over my head, a year of food on the table, a year of being able to concentrate on nothing but my work. You don’t know what that means to somebody like me.”

“There aren’t a lot of folks that can say that these days,” Dori reminded him, “so I’ve got a pretty good idea how much it means. I’m glad we were able to make it happen, for all of us.”

“I’m still waiting to wake up and find out this is a dream,” Fili said, and yelped as strong fingers pinched his backside. He spun to find a grinning Nori behind him. “Okay, I guess I am awake.”

Nori said, “This bottle is probably older than all of us put together—our granddad spent a chunk of the family fortune on his wine cellar. That was back when there was a family fortune, of course.”

“Yes, I’m afraid that, between buying wine and making bad business decisions under the influence of said wine, there’s not a lot of it left,” Dori said with a shrug. “But we’re going to enjoy this little piece of it today, anyway.” 

“I hate to have you open it on my account,” Fili said. “I wouldn’t know merlot from Manischewitz.”

“I’ve been looking for a good excuse to drink this, and I can’t think of a better one. So shush and let a man have his fun. It won’t go to waste, I promise you.”

Nori applied the corkscrew with expert hands and the cork made a satisfying pop as it came out of the bottle. “We’ll have to manage without crystal, but it will taste just as good in these,” Ori said as he passed the filled glasses around. “And I think we need a toast. Dori is usually the man with the words, but this time I’d like to do it if that’s all right.” His eldest brother nodded. “To Philip Oakes—up and coming artist, our client, and our friend. May this be just the beginning of a long and fruitful collaboration.”

“Hear, hear!” Glasses clinked, and Fili took a tentative sip. His experience with wine was limited to the thimbleful administered during Mass on Sundays. But he had to admit, if he didn’t have such a delicate head, this particular wine was something he could easily learn to like a lot. There was a warmth to it, even after being chilled, and the rich flavor stayed on his tongue after the glass was empty. 

He waved away Ori’s attempt to refill his glass. “I’m probably going to be calling a cab to get me home as it is. This is amazing stuff, though—thank you for sharing it with me.”

“Our pleasure. And we know you’re busy with the project for the theatre, but you won’t forget about us, right? I really liked that sketch you did of…what was her name, Teri? The girl with the paintbrush in her hair? Do that in color, and let me know when it’s done. I may have just the buyer for it.”

Fili laughed. This was a conversation he could never have imagined this time last year, or even six months ago. “I’ll do that. You know, at this rate, you might even be able to unload that picture you bought from me last Christmas.”

“Oh, that sold a few months back,” Ori said. “Around March, I think, wasn’t it, Dori?”

“I think so. And you know you never signed it—the buyer will have a hard time proving provenance when you’re famous.”

“You sold it? I mean, someone actually wanted to buy it? It was pretty gloomy.”

“You never know what will strike a chord with someone,” Dori said. “From what my Amanda said, though, it was an odd sale. She was minding the shop for the day and the man came in, looked around, and just stopped dead at that picture. He stood and stared at it for a long time, she said. Then he asked her to wrap it up, plunked the money down on the counter, didn’t wait for a bill of sale, and left, holding it like it was the Holy Grail.”

“That is a little odd.” That piece had been something of a catharsis, his only way to express the darkness inside him the previous winter. The memory of his own tormented face staring out of the black and gray shadows of the picture was one he’d like to forget, especially in light of his current life, and he couldn’t imagine anyone actually spending good money to own it.

“As I said, you never know what’s going to appeal to someone.”

“Well, I hope he’s still happy with it,” Fili said, shaking his head. “If you ever hear from him again, tell him I’ll be glad to either sign it or give him a letter to prove it’s mine. And I’m still grateful you bought it from me in the first place. I owe you for that in so many ways.” 

“Consider the debt paid in full, with interest,” Dori said. “And now that’s all settled, Amanda’s got supper waiting for us, so we need to head home.”

“Not me—I’ve got a hot date,” Nori said, rolling his sleeves down and reaching for his jacket. “Give Amanda a hug for me, and I’ll see you tomorrow morning. Congratulations again, Fili.” Cocking his hat at a rakish angle, Nori sauntered out the door.

“That Nori,” Dori said, shaking his head. “I don’t know what the women all see in him, but they certainly do. I’m waiting for the day when a father or brother shows up at our house with a shotgun and a parson. But you can’t tell him anything—no one ever could, not even our mother. Well, he’s going to miss a wonderful meal. And Amanda wants me to bring you home with us, Fili. She says she’d love to meet the man we’ve been talking about so much lately. But I think she has ulterior motives--she’s probably going to bombard you with questions about Miss Gold.”

“Tell her thank you and that I’d be happy to answer them another time, but not tonight,” Fili begged off. “I’m dead on my feet—I think the wine, the excitement, and the nerves are catching up with me. I’d probably end up face first in the mashed potatoes. If I could use your phone to call that cab, I’ll be out of your hair and you can sit down to that good supper before it gets cold.”

“You’re missing the best pot roast in the city, but I understand. Get some kind of food into you and get a good night’s sleep. And take that check straight to the bank in the morning.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Bofur was on duty that evening, and his cab pulled up to the door a few minutes later. “Lad, you look like you could sleep standin’ up,” the cabbie said with a sympathetic grimace. “Get comfortable, and if you doze off on the way, I’ll poke you when we get there. I won’t even talk on the way, and you know that’s askin’ a lot.”

Fili let out a tired chuckle. “I wouldn’t do that to you. Tell me about Miriam—did you two tell your parents yet about the baby?”

“We did, and I thought my mam was gonna burst every button off the front of her dress! You’d think she didn’t have half a dozen other grandkids, the way she carried on. She went lookin’ for her crochet hooks and is already plannin’ an entire wardrobe for the wee one. ‘Mustn’t let it catch a cold, you know,’ she says to Miriam. Da’s just as happy, but he’s a lot quieter about it. And she’s makin’ plans to invite Miriam’s parents over for supper one night, even askin’ about kosher. I think it’s safe to say Miriam is now officially part of the family. And truth be told, it’s a load off my mind.”

Bofur chattered about inconsequential things all the way back to the flat, and Fili listened with half an ear, enjoying the musical lilt of the man’s brogue. When the cab pulled up in front of Fili’s building, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a bill, handing it across the seat. Bofur looked at it and protested, “That’s way too much, lad!”

“Keep the change and get Miriam a present with it—something fluffy and pretty and completely impractical. She deserves to be spoiled, and I can afford it. And before you ask, yes, I’m awake enough to know what I’m doing. Go home and give her a hug from me, and thanks for everything.”

Fili climbed the stairs slowly and it took two tries to get his key into the lock. The top hinge squealed, and he made a mental note to get something to put on it in the morning. A good bang on each corner of the window, and the night breeze wafted through the flat, stirring the close air. He flicked the radio on and fiddled with the dial until he found some classical music, violin played by a master. For all he knew it could have been Heifetz. He let the notes wash over him, soothing him and blending his jumbled emotions together. Being keyed up and exhausted at the same time wasn’t much fun, and he did need to sleep at some point tonight.

He went to his hiding place, pulled up the loose board, and looked at the check one more time before stashing it inside. Wait until he told his mother and aunt about this. And Kili—he wanted to tell Kili so badly right now. He knew Kili would nod and say he’d known it all along, then there would be laughter and a hug from those strong arms. The sadness and need for distraction he’d seen yesterday in the park would be gone, and they could make plans to—what, exactly? Fili was now sure that Kili shared his feelings, but the younger man was still as much of an enigma as ever. The cryptic plea from the dream came back into his mind: “Come find me.” How did one find a phantom, especially when an invisible clock seemed to be ticking down critical seconds?

Fili sighed. It was too much for his overloaded brain to cope with tonight—tomorrow would have to be soon enough. It was time for food and sleep. He picked up a can of something and opened it, spooning the contents into his mouth without tasting it. If a gun had been put to his head, he couldn’t have said later what it was, but it filled his stomach and that was all that mattered. By the time he was finished, he was having trouble keeping his eyes open, even though it was still light outside. He stripped and fell into bed, and if he wasn’t asleep before his head hit the pillow, it was a dead heat at the finish line.

\-----

Fili went to the bank first thing, as he has promised Dori, and something of the surprise at seeing the current balance must have shown on his face, because Lindir gave him a tiny smile and nod. He boarded the bus to the studio in a state of pleasant shock, the passbook a comforting presence in his shirt pocket. Who would ever have imagined it? 

He spent the morning alone in the studio, with only the radio for company. He was working with colored pencils to complete a rough draft of the Vivirson portraits, testing colors and hues on paper before attempting oil and canvas. He had refined his original vision—pastels with splashes of jewel tones were still the basis, but the garden was now fully realized, and there was also the addition of the dog Kili had said his mother had wanted. Shaggy, raw boned and whisker-faced, the canine lounged at Dis’ feet, oversized head on her knee. He wasn’t an elegant animal, but Fili knew in his heart that this was exactly the kind of dog she would want. And he was certain Kili would agree with him.

He was concentrating so hard on what he was doing that he didn’t notice the woman until she spoke. “Excuse me, are you Mr. Oakes?" Everything about her was soft, from her hair to her voice to her smile, and Fili smiled in return, setting down his pencils.

“You must be Mrs.Tucker—Gaffer said you’d be by today. And please, call me Fili.”

“Delighted to meet you, Fili, and I’m Bella,” she said, shaking his outstretched hand. Well, the grip wasn’t soft, Fili thought, holding back a wince. “Galadriel called me yesterday and said it was all right for me to visit; thank you for that.”

“My pleasure. Can I offer you some coffee or maybe some ice water? They’ve been very generous to us here.”

“No, thank you, and I don’t want to keep you from your work. But I did so want to see what you’re doing.”

“Well, there’s not a lot to see yet, as I told Miss Gold, but here it is. I’d love your opinion, since you knew them so well. What I can get from pictures is only part of the story.”

Fili stepped back and let Bella examine the picture, watching her reaction. Fingers reached out but didn’t touch the surface of the paper, then came back to rest on lips that trembled almost imperceptibly. Minutes ticked by as hazel eyes took in every inch of the sketch, then Bella straightened her head and shoulders, taking a deep breath. “Galadriel told me you were the artist who did the picture she gave me, the one of the little boy that looks so much like my Kili. She said I could trust you to do Dis and Vali justice. I can see she was right.”

“A lot of this is straight out of my head, so if you have any suggestions, things I should change—“ Fili began.

Her whisper was husky, but her smile could have rivaled Kili’s for sheer wattage. “Don’t change a thing. The colors, the garden, even the dog--I don’t know how you know, but I’m not about to question a miracle. This is perfect. You’re bringing them back to us.”

“I’m glad. Tell me a little more about them—the more I know, the better I can do.” 

Fili led her over to a table and held a chair for her. Bella’s eyes took on a fond faraway look. “I met Dis when she and I competed for the same role in the Christmas pageant. She won, even though she was two years younger than me. You have no idea how that stung, but even at that age, I could recognize talent, and hers was always greater than mine. It didn’t stop us from becoming the best of friends, and it didn’t stop me from trying my luck here. And here I met my Ben, and my dreams changed—probably for the better, all things considered. Our home was always full of theatre folk, and Dis came to us straight off the train. Her family was livid, especially her brother. But she was here to stay, come hell or high water. 

“And then she met Vali during an audition. The electricity between them could have sparked every light on Broadway, and it translated into their work onstage, even the vaudeville stuff. Vali’s agent knew a good thing when he saw it, and signed her to a contract. She and Vali were married a year later, and Kili arrived a year after that. There were hard times, but they had their dreams, and they had each other, and they had their son. Life was good.”

Bella laughed. “I remember the night her brother tried to talk Dis into getting off the stage—she stood toe to toe with him, not giving an inch. She told Vali and me later that it was the greatest performance she’d ever given, taking him on like a lioness when she was quaking in her boots. I didn’t think they’d ever reconcile, but when she died, they were friends again. Thorin Durin is a good man, he was worried about her, and I think she always knew that. And he raised Kili well. My Ben and I were never blessed with children of our own, and I was grateful that Dis and Vali allowed me to share their son’s life. I cried when he left for Troy, but it’s not like he went to China. Trains are horrid, dirty things, but they have their uses, and the letters and phone calls help, too. You’d like him, Fili. I hope you get to meet him one day.”

 _If she only knew._ “Well, perhaps you could introduce me to Kili? I expect he’ll be there for the grand opening. I know if someone was honoring my parents, I’d want to be representing them.”

“We all hope he will be.” Bella’s voice faltered, and her smile with it. “You hear stories all the time of people coming out of comas and being perfectly fine, don’t you?”

“Coma? What happened to Kili?” Fili would never know how he kept his voice steady, betraying nothing but understandable curiosity. Inside his numbed brain a voice was screaming, _tell me!_

“He was on his way to the city early one morning. He had to drive, of course—nothing made him happier than being at the wheel, unless it was tinkering with an airplane. He went off the road and into a tree. The drunk who forced him off the road was on his way home from some party, and all he got was a fine. Kili’s uncle fought the verdict, but when there’s a Smaug involved, things get swept under the rug.” Another thing that wasn’t soft about Bella Tucker—the force of her anger and scorn. “Thorin came as soon as he heard, hoping it was some sort of mistake, or a horrid April Fool’s joke.”

Bella said something else, but Fili had stopped hearing anything but the pounding of his own heart. _April Fool’s joke_ , she’d said. 

April Fool’s Day. April first…the day a little boy had berated Fili for snooping into his treasure box, and had turned his world upside down…

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes, short and sweet this time:
> 
> Jascha Heifetz--one of the greatest violinists of all time, he made his debut at Carnegie Hall at 16, had a long and illustrious career, and when his bowing arm was injured during an assault, shared his expertise as a teacher.
> 
> Manischewitz--a famous kosher wine that even those who don't keep kosher seem to like, it's widely available all over the world.
> 
> The self-portrait of Fili was inspired by one done by Harlem Renaissance artist William H Johnson, seen here: http://americanart.si.edu/collections/search/artist/?id=2486 Johnson fled the prejudice in the US for Denmark for a number of years, finally coming back to at least some of the recognition his work deserved.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The mystery begins to unravel, and Fili calls on a friend for some help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is interested, Winifred is a nod to Winifred 'Fred' Burkle from the TV show Angel -- pretty, brainy, and as tough as she was sweet. I think Bilbo would like someone like that....

Fili could feel the blood leave his face, and the world grayed around the edges just a fraction. Kili had been in a coma for over two months. How could that be possible, when Fili had seen him, felt his touch, and thrilled to the soft magic of the kiss on his cheek?

"Fili, are you all right?" Bella asked, the concern in her voice bringing Fili back down to earth. "You don't look well. Perhaps I should leave..."

"No, it's just a headache," Fili finally managed, the lie rolling glibly off his tongue. He'd gotten very good at that lately, and he was sure his mother and Sister Immaculata would be very disappointed in him. But he couldn't let Bella leave yet, not when he needed answers so badly. "I get them sometimes when I work too hard. I'll be all right in a bit. So Kili hasn't been awake at all?"

"Thorin says he comes out of it just a bit now and then, not all the way awake, but like he’s dreaming and talking in his sleep. He's even laughed and cried, but he always goes back under. But if he is waking up at all, that means he's still in there, right? It isn't foolish to hope, is it?"

Even if he had thought it was foolish, Fili could never have said so to the pleading eyes looking up at him. "Hope is never silly, Bella -- sometimes it's the only thing we have. I feel like I should go see him, even if he doesn't know I'm there. What hospital is he in?

"He's not in a hospital--Thorin made arrangements to take him back home to Troy when he didn't wake up after a few days. I'm sure he's getting better care from the nurse Thorin hired than he'd have in an understaffed hospital anyway. And Thorin took a leave of absence from the Institute to stay with him."

"A private nurse and a leave of absence? That has to be costing a lot." Fili couldn’t imagine managing it on a professor’s salary.

"The family has some money--not like they did once, but still enough. And even if they didn't, Thorin would have found a way. I don't think there's anything he wouldn't do for Kili. He's a good man, and he's stubborn, like all the Durins. Kili inherited that from his mother. I hope it will be enough to bring him back to us."

"From what you're telling me, it might just be."

Bella rose from her chair, and Fili rose with her. "And I should go now. Are you sure you're going to be all right, Fili?"

 _I may never be all right again._ Fili's life, already odd, had just become infinitely stranger, but somehow he kept it from showing on his face. "I'll be fine, Bella. Thank you for coming to see me today, it really means a lot.”

“I don’t see why, but I’m glad. Kili would…no, he will be so pleased. He will see this picture, I know he will.” She held out her hand, then asked, “Would you mind terribly if I gave you a hug?”

“I wouldn’t mind a bit—I think I could use one right now.” Light lilac scent wafted toward him as Bella’s arms went around him, and for just a moment he was back home. Mary Oakes was tiny and wire-strong, Bella was all rounded curves, but the same sense of maternal love flowed off both of them like a river, quiet and deep. Fili let it soak in for a moment, felt it calm his frayed emotions, letting him breathe naturally again. 

Bella let go and stepped back, leaving her hand on Fili’s forearm. “Thank you again. We’ll talk again soon, I promise. Feel better.” Soft fingers squeezed his arm, and then she was gone.

Fili slumped back into his chair and buried his head in his hands. Kili was unconscious in his home hours away from New York, and had been for weeks. If the Kili he’d seen had been an apparition, then maybe he could get his mind around it. But his Kili was no hallucination—Teri had seen him, too. He was solid, and strong, and so very real and warm. It wasn’t possible…

And yet, just how many impossible things had he been able and willing to simply accept in the last few weeks? A little boy from another time had blinked into his life at a time when Fili had most needed him—a miracle, surely. And that boy had leapfrogged fifteen years through time to be with him—Fili didn’t understand how, but once again, as Bella had said, one didn’t question a miracle. And the greatest miracle of all was that this man cared for Fili as much as Fili cared for him. He believed that with all his heart. Like the Queen in Looking Glass Land, he was getting a lot of practice at believing impossible things. And instead of worrying about his sanity, he was happier than he’d been in his life. 

Miracles. Fili had been brought up Catholic, though he’d not set foot inside a church for far longer than he’d care to admit to his mother. Between attending Mass and religious lessons at school, he was well versed in the concept of miracles, and in acceptance of the inexplicable. Some of it, like Jonah and the whale, he had simply wanted to believe—it was exciting to the mind of a working-class kid in Dayton that a man could survive inside a huge sea creature, no matter what science might say to the contrary. The notion of God in three beings was confusing enough that he accepted it in self-defense. The Virgin Mother…well, doubting that one felt disloyal to mothers everywhere, especially his own. And there had been times when he wished he could have pulled off the loaves and fishes trick with his last can of beans. There were questions, but a core belief remained into more cynical adulthood. Miracles happened—it was the way it was. One had just never happened to him before.

Now a miracle named Kili had entered his life, and brought with him the kind of love Fili could only dream about. If he could accept the biblical miracles, he could accept this, too. But acceptance didn’t mean that Fili didn’t want some answers. The only place to find them seemed to be Kili himself. If only Kili had been in a hospital in New York, he might have started there. It was looking more and more like he was going to have to take a trip, but he had some things to do first.

He put his supplies away, stowed his work in his portfolio, and headed for the bus stop. On the way, he walked past a church, small and a bit run down. The sign in front proclaimed it as St. Jude’s. On impulse, he stepped inside, crossing himself with water from the font near the door, removing his cap with the other hand. It was dim, cool and quiet--the only real light came from the afternoon sun streaming through the stained glass image of the church’s patron saint, and a bank of votive candles to the left of the altar. 

Fili walked to the front of the church, setting his cap and portfolio on the front pew, and fished in his pocket for a coin to drop in the box. Selecting a candle, he lit it and knelt on the bench provided. He’d long since forgotten the proper words to the prayer, but somehow he didn’t think St. Jude would mind. “St. Jude, patron saint of hopeless causes,” he began, closing his eyes, “I’ve got one, and it’s a doozy. I have to find a man, and I think I need to find him soon, and it feels like there’s a whole world between him and me. If you can help me out, I’d be grateful. I can’t promise I’ll come to church more often or anything like that, but if there is a way I can help someone else out who’s feeling hopeless, I’ll give it my best shot. I hope that’s good enough. And thanks in advance.” 

Fili opened his eyes, crossed himself again, and was starting to rise when a hand touched his shoulder. An old woman stood behind him—she must have come in while he was praying, and he hadn’t noticed. She smiled at Fili, showing teeth still whole and strong despite her age. “It’ll be all right, son—St. Jude looks after his own. He showed me a way out last year when I couldn’t see one, and I come here every week to say thanks. He’ll help you, too, you’ll see. And you were smart not to make a promise you weren’t sure you could keep. He likes honesty. Best of luck to you.”

Fili hadn’t realized until that moment that he’d actually made his plea aloud. “Thank you, ma’am, I’ll take all the luck I can get. Can I give you a hand with the bench?”

“That would be kind of you—these old knees don’t work like they used to.” She leaned on Fili’s arm and settled onto the bench with a soft grunt. “Go along with you, now, and himself will go with you.” She lit her candle and shut her eyes, and Fili silently gathered his cap and portfolio. Glancing up at the stained glass image again, he could swear the saint was smiling. Shaking his head, he crossed himself one more time, and left the church. A quick walk and a short sprint got him to the bus stop just in time to catch the bus before it pulled out. A little luck running in his favor—he hoped it would continue to hold for a few days longer. The clock was ticking.

___

“Mr…Bilbo, do you have a minute? I need your help.”

“Of course, Fili. Let me finish putting these away and I’ll be right with you. Have a seat.” The little librarian hefted a pile of books that looked like it outweighed him, and balanced them with ease as he headed toward the stacks. _Remind me never to get into an arm wrestling match with him,_ Fili thought, a grin crossing his face for the first time that day. _He’d probably dislocate my shoulder._ He settled in to a chair to wait, and it wasn’t long before Bilbo reappeared and plopped into the chair opposite.

“You haven’t been by in a while. I hope everything is all right?” Bilbo asked, pushing his glasses up on his nose.

“It’s better than all right—pretty spectacular, really. I got a long-term commission, and I’ve been really busy. That theatre I asked about the last time I was here? They wanted portraits of the people who died in the Erebor fire, and I got hired to do one.”

“Congratulations!” Bilbo’s voice was loud enough to earn him a ‘shh!’ from a older patron with a gimlet glare, and he flushed. “Sorry,” he mouthed, then turned back to Fili with a delighted grin. “That is excellent news! You’re forgiven for not coming to see me, then. But you said you need some help. So, what can I do for you?” 

“I need to send a telegram or a letter, but I don’t have an address.”

“If you have a name, have you tried the phone book?”

“It’s not here in New York. It’s in Troy. And I don’t have a phone book for there. Is there any way you can help? I know it’s asking a lot, but I don’t know who else to go to.”

“Troy, you said? I might be able to find out. I don’t have a phone book for Troy here—keeping track of the ones for the five boroughs is enough of a chore. But I’ll bet my friend Winifred can track this person down for you. She’s a librarian in Troy. Don’t look so surprised,” Bilbo added. “The pool of librarians in this state isn’t that big, and we all know each other, by phone if nothing else. And I talk to Winnie quite a bit, as it happens.”

“Uh-huh,” Fili said, holding back a smile. “And just how good a ‘friend’ is she?”

“None of your business,” Bilbo huffed, but Fili could see the way the tips of the man’s ears pinked, and the tiny smile that played around the edges of his mouth. “She’s one of the best research librarians in the state, so we consult about…things. And I’ve…known her since college. I came here, she went to Renssaeller--”

“Wait, she works at Renssaeller Polytech? But that’s perfect! The person I need to find works there. Professor Thorin Durin.”

“I’ll ask her, but she may not be allowed to give out that information on a professor, Fili. They have rules about that sort of thing. And I won’t have her jeopardize her job.”

“And I wouldn’t ask her to. But if he’s listed in the Troy phone book, it’s public record, and she can’t get in dutch for it, can she? Just ask her if she’ll look. I wouldn’t ask if there was another way, and if it wasn’t important. Please.”

“All right. You said Thorin Durin, correct?” Bilbo took a piece of scrap paper and a pencil from the box on the table and jotted the name down. The letters were neat and precise, and Fili wondered if Bilbo had gone to Catholic school, too. “If they’ve got a copy of the Haines directory, she might be able to find it in there, too, even if he’s not in the phone book. That’s pretty new, so they might not have one. This might take a while; where can I get in touch with you?”

“I’m working at my friend’s café today, so call me there if you find out anything, all right? If it’s tomorrow, leave a message for me at G&O Drugstore; they’ll see that I get it.” Fili reeled off the numbers and Bilbo wrote them down under Thorin Durin’s name. “Thank you, and thank Winifred for me. And please tell her that if it’s going to cause her any problems at all, forget I asked.”

“All right. I’ll be in touch as soon as I can.”

Fili caught the bus toward home and walked in the back door of the café to be greeted by Vanna. “Open up and taste,” she ordered, and he did, biting down on the cookie she held. Cinnamon, butter, and vanilla flooded his tongue, and he savored it for a moment before swallowing. “So, good enough?” she asked.

“Better than good—perfect. But if you don’t believe me, you can ask Celebrian what she thinks when you see her. Elrond was at the studio yesterday, and he said they’re planning to stop in for a meal one day soon. I think she wants to thank her ‘dear friend’ in person for the strudel recipe.” Vanna’s russet eyebrows went up. “Yeah, that’s what she calls you when people ask where she got it. Apparently it’s been a big hit.”

“Well, it is a good recipe. But…’dear friend’? Oh my! And they’re coming here? Wait till I tell Bombur!” Vanna rushed off to give her husband the news, and Fili chuckled as he rolled up his sleeves and slung an apron over his head. His lunch sandwich was waiting for him with a glass of cold lemonade, and he made short work of both. Fueled and ready to go, he set to work, staying busy to keep his mind off other things.

He was elbow-deep in suds after the lunch rush when Bombur’s daughter Jeannie called out, “Fili! Phone for you!” He rinsed and dried his hands and arms and picked up the receiver that she’d left dangling, taking a deep breath to calm the sudden storm of butterflies that erupted in his stomach.

“Hello, Fili. Have I caught you at a busy time?” Bilbo asked.

“We’re between rushes, so I’ve got a couple minutes. Did you find out something?”

“I did. Winnie does know the professor, and told me he’s on a leave of absence from the Institute right now. He’s listed in the Troy phone book, so she can’t get in trouble for giving you the address, but she does want to know why you need it. It seems there’s an illness or something in the family, and she doesn’t think a stranger should be bothering them right now.”

“It’s because of that family thing that I need to see him. See, I…I’ve met his nephew a few times, and we’re friends, but I only just heard that Kili had been in an accident. I was hoping the professor would let me see him, but I can’t just arrive on the doorstep, and I don’t want to call him at home. That’s why I need the address. And I promise you, if he says no, that’s the end of it.”

There was a pause, then Bilbo said, “All right. I have a feeling you’re not telling me something here, but what you are telling me is the truth. Do you have something to write on?”

“Hang on. Jeannie, let me borrow your pad and pencil for a minute, please?” She handed them over, and Fili tucked the handset between his ear and shoulder. “All right, go ahead.” Bilbo recited the address and Fili copied it down with hands that had started to tremble. “Thank you, Bilbo, I owe you for this.”

“Yes, you do, and I expect the full story at some point.”

“You’ll get it.” _As soon as I figure out what it is._ “Thank your friend for me. I have to get back to work. Thanks again.” Fili hung up the phone, ripped the sheet off the order pad, and folded it carefully before sticking it in his pocket. He noted that Jeannie had been standing far enough away so she couldn’t overhear but still within eyeshot, giving him privacy and tacit support. “Here you go, Jeannie—thank you.”

“Is everything all right, Fili?” she asked as she slipped the pad and pencil back into her apron pocket.

“Not sure, but I hope it will be.”

“Is there anything I…we can do?”

“No, at least not now, but if there is I’ll let you know. Time for me to get back to work, those plates aren’t going to wash themselves.” Jeannie nodded, heading off to the dining room with a backward glance and a smile. Fili watched her go, all sunny attitude and big heart like her mother. He thought about the scarf she’d made him last Christmas, tucked safely away in the bottom of his chest of drawers, remembered the blush on her cheeks when she’d handed it to him. If things were different, if he was different, she’d be exactly the sort of girl he’d want at his side forever. The day would come when the right man came along, though, the one who could give her what he couldn’t. And he hoped he’d be there to dance at her wedding.

The supper crowd was light, and Bombur closed up a bit early that night. Fili swept, mopped, and tidied, tossing his apron into the basket in the corner on the way out. Cap perched on the back of his head, he walked toward his flat in the moonlight. He’d decided on a proper letter rather than a telegram—it would take longer to get a reply, if he got one at all, but it was the way a successful artist and a gentleman would do it. And no torn-out sketchbook paper for this letter—real stationery and a matching envelope were the way to go. And he’d have to see about a haircut, and make sure his suit and shirt were clean and pressed, and…

And he was getting way ahead of himself. First, he needed to write the letter, and wait for a positive reply. Then he could worry about the rest of it. 

He composed the letter that night, knowing sleep would elude him until he did. He followed the advice of Sister Mary Angelica, his favorite English teacher: “Write it all down, then read it out loud. You’ll hear what you really don’t need.” He wrote and revised, polished and cut, until he finally had a draft that was brief, to the point, and as close to the truth as he could make it—considering he wasn’t sure yet just what the truth was. He flipped the pad shut, tossed it and the pencil into the orange crate by the bed, and clicked the lamp off. It was going to work, or it wasn’t—there was no point second-guessing himself any further. A silent sleeve-tug to St. Jude, and Fili dropped into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief historical notes this time:
> 
> Once again, welcome to the world of research pre-computer. If you needed to find someone, you usually went to the phone book, but like today, not everyone was listed. The Haines directory, also called the criss-cross directory, was an internet search before the internet was even a glimmer in anyone's eye. First published in 1932, you could find people by name, town, phone, even occupation. As a rule only fairly big businesses and libraries could afford them, but they were more than worth the cost in their data-mining value.
> 
> And as noted in a previous historical note, Renssaeller Polytechnic Institute is a real place -- I'd thought about making one up, but this was much better than anything I could have come up with.


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili gets an answer to his letter, and prepares for a trip.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, you HAVE to see the gorgeous graphic that the wonderful and talented mayyourbeardnevergrowthin (Khim_Azaghal) made for this story!!! I don't know how to do a proper link here, so cut and paste this:  
> http://ceallaig1.tumblr.com/post/149601860884/my-entry-for-the-gatheringfiki-self-promotion

_Professor Durin,_

_We haven’t met, but I am a friend of your nephew Kili. I’m also the artist that has been given the honor of painting his parents’ portrait for the new Mirkwood Playhouse. Mr. and Mrs. Vivirson were by all accounts truly special people, and the more I’ve learned about them, the more I’ve seen of them in their remarkable son. I only recently heard about Kili’s accident, and I wondered if it might be possible for me to visit him. No one seems to know just how much a person in his condition hears, but I’d like very much to tell him about the portrait and the plans for the theatre. If you need to verify that I am who I say I am, I am certain Miss Galadriel Gold and Mrs. Bella Tucker will both vouch for me._

_Please send a reply to the address on the envelope. I hope to hear from you at your earliest convenience, even if it’s to tell me no. If you do not wish me to come, I will understand. I ask only that you tell Kili that Fili hopes he will be reaching for the skies again very soon._

_Sincerely,  
Philip Oakes_

The letter, transferred from sketchpad to heavy ivory stationery, went into the mail the next morning. Fili’s hand had shaken badly enough that he’d ruined three sheets before producing one he wasn’t ashamed of sending. Special delivery would get it to its destination as quickly as possible—now all he could do was wait. And hope.

\----

“That looks great.”

Teri looked over Fili’s shoulder as he cast one final critical look over the colored pencil version of the portrait. Fili allowed himself a nod of satisfaction. The colors were perfect, the pops of brilliance enough to be eye catching but not enough to overwhelm or distract. “Yeah, I think so, too. It’s time to go to canvas.” He put down his pencil and massaged his hands. “But not today. If I’ve got it, it hurts right now.”

“I’m not surprised—you’ve been working like a demon for the last week. You’re making the rest of us look bad,” Teri said, only half joking. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Hoping for an answer to a letter, trying not to think about it too much.” Fili cricked his neck from one side to the other, wincing at the popping sound. “I don’t handle waiting very well, I guess.” He managed a small smile. “Mama always said I was a holy terror around Christmas.”

Teri laughed. “Well, you’re not going to make it any better by keeling over or getting sick. Sit down over here for a minute.” Fili did as she asked, and felt strong fingers digging into the muscles of his shoulders and neck. “No wonder you hurt—you’re a solid block of knots here. Try to relax. Think about something that makes you happy.”

Fili closed his eyes and a memory surfaced from his childhood. His parents had surprised him with a day trip to a nearby lake for his eleventh birthday. He remembered the joy of soft grass and calm water; finding just the right angle to skip a flat stone; a picnic lunch under a tree and ice cream at a little sweet shop; Mama’s smile as she pressed the wildflower Dad had given her into her copy of Shakespeare. 

From beginning to end, it had been a perfect day, as close to a slice of heaven as he figured he was ever likely to see. Whenever things were bad, Fili could take himself back to that time, when the world was simple, and love surrounded him. It didn’t always help, but this time it worked. He could feel the knots release and the tension drain. His hands still felt like pieces of meat, but at least his head and shoulders had stopped aching. 

Teri kneaded his shoulders for a few more moments, then sat down opposite him. “That’s more like it, Feel better now?”

“Lots; thank you.” 

Teri chewed her lower lip for a moment, then said, “If I’m being a nosey parker just say so, but…does this letter have anything to do with your friend?”

Fili sighed. “Transparent as all that, am I?”

“Only because I’ve met him, and seen the two of you together.”

“Yeah, it’s about him. I’ve heard some stuff, and I’m worried about him.”

Teri reached over and squeezed his hand. “Well, I hope you get an answer soon, and I hope it’s a good one. Because if it’s not I might have to kill you out of self-defense—not sure my fingers will take much more of those shoulder knots.”

Fili barked out a laugh and gave her hand an answering squeeze. “Thanks again, and I’m sorry for being a pain—literally. I’m going to get out of here, get something to eat, and head home. I’m beat.”

“Let me get packed up and I’ll walk out with you. Have you decided what you’re bringing on Saturday to Loretta’s little show-and-tell session?” The art and design teacher had gotten them all to promise to be at the studio that Saturday with preliminary sketches for the decorative art Galadriel had mentioned. There was going to be a round table critique over coffee and tea. Loretta was bringing in a cake, and Fili planned on asking Vanna if she’d make a batch of the cinnamon cookies for him.

“Since it’s incidental art for the theatre, I figured I’d play it safe and stick with flowers or landscapes. How about you?” Fili asked as he slid his work into the portfolio. 

“Still life maybe, or something abstract, haven’t quite decided. I still have a couple days.” Teri shut her locker and snapped the lock in place. “You ready? Let’s get out of here.”

As they got off the freight elevator, they nearly collided with Gaffer. “Fili, I was just on my way up there. This just got here, special delivery, so I figured it was important. Some pretty fancy stationery there.” Gaffer handed over an envelope with a cursive embossed D on the flap, and a return address in Troy. 

Fili took a deep breath as he accepted the letter from the older man, and he felt Teri’s hand on his shoulder. He slipped a nail under the flap, took out the single sheet of paper within, and read it through twice, not sure he’d understood the first time. “Gaffer, I need to make a long distance call; could I use the phone here?”

“Sure, son. Is everything all right?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine.” Fili glanced at Teri, and her smile mirrored his own. Gaffer led the way into his office, and Fili dialed the number on the letter. Two rings, three, then a click on the other end. “Professor? It’s Philip Oakes, sir. I just got your letter…yes, sir, Friday afternoon would be very convenient, and thank you…I’ll see you then.”

He hung up the phone with a shaking hand. “Thanks, Gaffer. Teri, tell the others I’m sorry, but I might not be there Saturday. I’m going to be out of town.”

“I’ll just tell them an emergency came up; they’ll have to deal with it. Go take care of business, and let me know what happens.”

“Are you sure you’re all right, son?” Gaffer asked. “You look a mite pale.”

“I’m aces, Gaffer, honest. This was good news. And I’ve got a lot to do before Friday. See you both later.” Fili pulled Teri into a quick hug and bolted out the door toward the bus stop.

The letter and phone call had put the wind back in his sails, and he was running on pure adrenaline. He figured he’d crash and burn sooner or later, but he was going to take advantage of the burst while he could. He made a stop at his flat to clear out his hiding place, tucking his bank passbook and money into his pocket. He slid the old suitcase out from under the bed and discovered that one of the clasps was broken. Maybe Bombur and Vanna had one he could borrow—if he had to, he’d just put his things in a brown paper bag. He was sure he wasn’t the only traveler to do so these days. 

He looked around the flat, picking through his art, and slid several pieces into the portfolio. With that in hand, he locked his door and walked across the hall. Mr. Thrain appeared at his knock, baseball bat in hand, but lowered it as soon as he saw Fili. “Sure, I c’n hang onto the newspapers for ya,” the old man agreed. “If that fat bastid saw a coupla days’ worth by the door, he’d prob’ly try t’rent the place out from under ya. I’ll keep an eye out.” Considering that Mr. Thrain only had one eye, Fili figured that was the best offer he’d had all week.

Bombur’s was quiet when he walked in, and Vanna greeted him with a hug. “Vanna, I need a couple favors. Can you look after this portfolio for me for a couple days? And would you have a small suitcase I could borrow?” 

“Where are you going?”

Fili smiled. “You know how you’re always after me to meet someone? Well, I finally have, and I’m going to see him.”

Vanna’s eyebrows went up. “Really? And this is the first I’m hearing about it? Why haven’t you brought him around to see us?”

Once again, Fili thanked whatever power had brought this family into his life. Vanna, after the fashion of happily married women everywhere, wanted to see everyone around her happily settled, too. She had tried for a long time to match him up with friends or daughters of friends. When she’d asked what was wrong with the most recent candidate—“Is she too blonde? Too short?” Fili had blurted without thinking, “Too female,” and froze, waiting for her to throw him out. Vanna hadn’t missed a beat, simply changed gears and suggested that he meet Mrs. Goldsmith’s son Daniel: “he’s a very nice young man, a bit on the quiet side.” Fili’s laugh had bordered on hysteria, and Vanna had pulled him into a hug, welcoming and calming. The only label that mattered to her was ‘friend’

“He doesn’t live here, and right now he can’t travel. He’s had an accident, and I wasn’t sure his family would let me come. Not everybody is like you and Bombur.”

“They’d be fools not to let you see him, but some folks are just fools anyway. Let me go downstairs and take a look while you eat. How about goulash and maybe a slice of pie? Elsie made the apple fresh this morning.”

“Sounds perfect, thanks.” He hoped the rumbling in his stomach wasn’t too audible. He hadn’t realized just how hungry he was, and Bombur’s goulash was the best in town.

A laden plate, along with bread and butter and coffee, appeared in front of him in short order. By the time he was finished, Vanna had found the suitcase, just big enough to hold a couple days’ worth of clothes and toiletries. “We’ll take good care of your stuff. Just you make sure to come back soon, and give our best to your friend.”

“I will, and I’ll bring him here as soon as I can. He’d love it here.”

The next day was taken up with preparations. Fili counted up what he had in cash and did some addition in his head on the way to the bank. He figured train fare, a couple nights at a hotel, and food, plus enough for some shopping, and tacked on a few dollars extra just to be on the safe side. He could always bring it back—better to have and not need, as Mama always said. Since he’d been on the ‘need and not have’ end of the spectrum far too many times, Fili could appreciate the wisdom of this. 

Cash in hand, Fili stopped at the mercantile and picked up a couple new undershirts and pairs of boxers, two new pairs of socks, and fresh blades for his razor. He took the things back to his flat, ate, then tried his suit on and discovered that the waistcoat was a bit snug. That was what happened when meals started being a lot more regular and plentiful. Bard assured him, when he dropped the suit and the fedora off for a once-over, that it would look fine without the waistcoat, and alterations could be made when Fili had more time. 

Fili bowed to his expertise and purchased a new shirt, a pale blue one this time. This was set aside to be pressed along with the suit. Everything would be ready for him by that evening. He also found a slim black wallet that he purchased on impulse—he’d never replaced the one he’d lost last year because there had seemed to be very little point. Now there was. And he was still astounded by that. He paid for everything, stuck the cash in his new wallet, and set off on the rest of his errands.

Balin tsk’d over the state of Fili’s hair and set to work taming the overgrown curls. He kept up a running commentary on the ball game playing over the radio, delighted that his beloved Giants were winning, though still disparaging of Carl Hubbell’s performance. “What is he doing, letting that guy get a hit off him? If it was Matty, the joker would have never gotten wood near the ball, mark my words.” Fili just let the words and sounds wash over him, soothing as the hot water and scalp massage, and even in this heat, the hot towel after the shave felt wonderful. 

The barber finished, whipped the cape off Fili, and handed him the mirror for inspection. Despite the knots in his stomach, Fili smiled—once again, Balin had worked a miracle, turning a scruffy artist into a gentleman. There really was nothing like a good sprucing up to make a man look at himself in a whole new light. 

That gave him an idea. Fili stood up from the chair and reached into his pocket. “Will this cover my tab?”

Balin stared at the bill. “Yeah, yours and probably three other guys’.”

“Good. Give someone that needs it the works—shave, haircut, hot towel, just like you did me--and keep the rest. I…kinda made a promise that I’d find a way to help out if someone else needed it. And there are a lot of guys that could use a boost these days.”

Balin smiled. “There are indeed, and I’ll be happy to do it. So how did it go with that special lady you were going to see?” he asked as he swept the loose hair on the floor into a neat pile. 

Fili’s eyebrows shot up. “You remembered that?”

“Of course. Barbers and bartenders, we remember everything.” Balin winked. “So how are things with her? She’s a beauty, I bet.”

“Things are great. And yes, she’s probably the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen, and I’m not the only one that thinks so.”

“Well, sounds like you’re a lucky man, then.”

“I am.” _In so many ways._

“Off you go now, and give that special lady my best.”

“I will, sir, thank you.” 

After that, it was off to the train station to check the schedule. A train was going to Troy early Friday morning—even allowing for a three hour trip Fili would have plenty of time to find a place to stay and grab some food before his appointment with Professor Durin. He bought his ticket, tucked it into his wallet, and buried that deep in his pocket. 

He checked the clock and saw he still had time to kill before going back to Bard’s shop to collect his suit and shirt. Someone had left a newspaper on a bench, and he opened it, scanning the movie listings. A theater near the station was showing the new Gable-Tracy picture _San Francisco_ , and it looked like it would let out in time for him to make it back to Bard’s before closing. He smiled; it had been some time since he’d taken an afternoon just for himself, and sometimes being alone in a crowd was better than just being alone.

The film was spectacular—Fili wasn’t an opera fan, but he had to admit that Jeannette MacDonald had a glorious voice. Gable and Tracy, each dynamic on his own, played off each other perfectly, and he hoped they’d do another picture together. The earthquake sequence was frighteningly real, and he wondered what deal had been struck with the movie gods to achieve it. And if he were honest, he did tear up just a bit when Gable’s character dropped to his knees to thank God that his girl was safe after the earthquake. He understood that feeling, and thought he might just do the same thing when he saw Kili. 

He arrived back at Bard’s shop with minutes to spare until closing. His suit and shirt were carefully swaddled in paper to protect them on the train ride. He planned to change when he got to Troy—there was little point in getting a proper haircut if he arrived at the professor’s door a rumpled mess. 

He was hot and tired by the time he got back to his flat. A cool shower and slipping into a fresh undershirt and boxers made him feel better. Supper was two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and a glass of water as cold as the tap could give it to him. He looked for something to read that would take his mind off his impending trip, and settled on his well-worn copy of _Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar_. The superheroics of the jungle king always made him smile, even if the writing sometimes made him cringe a bit. To be tall and strong and able to take down the most fearsome villains, afraid of nothing in the universe—Fili wondered what that must be like. The thought of finally seeing Kili face to face, not to mention his formidable uncle, had him scared spitless. What should he say? How much would Kili hear and understand? 

Fili remembered a bereaved teenage boy who had been nervous about meeting his uncle. “You’ll know when the time comes. Listen to your heart,” he’d told Kili. Maybe it was time to take his own advice. The words would come when they were needed. After all, he had a saint in his corner. 

He put his book away, cleaned his dishes, brushed his teeth, and settled into bed. He really didn’t expect to sleep much, but whatever rest he could manage would be good. Whatever happened tomorrow, happened, and there was nothing he could do to change it one way or another. He closed his eyes, and started planning out the portrait of Teri he had promised Ori he’d work on. That one needed jewel tones—burnished copper for the bright hair, and an emerald green blouse to match her eyes. He could see it in his mind, and he smiled in the darkness. He would make Ori happy, and he would make Kili proud. His last thought before slipping into sleep was, _Wait for me, Kili, I’m on my way. I’ve got so much to tell you…_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes for this chapter:
> 
> Carl (Meal Ticket) Hubbell and Christy (Matty, Big Six) Mathewson were both chronicled in the notes for Chapter 5. 
> 
> San Francisco--an epic (in every way) film from MGM Studios in 1936, it starred powerhouses Clark Gable as a Barbary Coast nightclub owner, Spencer Tracy as his boyhood pal turned priest, and Jeannette McDonald as a singer who falls for Gable's character. This is set against the backdrop of the title city on the eve of the great earthquake of 1906.Ms. McDonald had an amazing voice, and was paired with clean cut blond baritone Nelson Eddy in a series of very popular musicals for MGM in the 30s. Gable earned the nickname of King of Hollywood by being a top consistent box office champ--his name on the marquee pretty much guaranteed a picture's success. This film was the first of three he did with Tracy, arguably one of the finest screen actors ever with a 40-plus year career cut short only by his death. And after 80 years, the earthquake scene still holds up magnificently.
> 
> Tarzan and the Jewels of Opar--for anyone like me that grew up with the whole 'me Tarzan, you Jane' thing, the books of Edgar Rice Burroughs might come as a bit of a surprise, with the cultured, well-spoken Lord Greystoke front and center. Burroughs wrote over 20 adventures for his jungle hero, and this particular book is one of his best stories (even though, like Fili, the writing sometimes makes me shake my head...) It has adventure, action, romance, danger, exotic settings, and a hero that can handle anything, even when he's lost his memory.


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fili goes to see Thorin, and the puzzle pieces start coming together.

Early Friday sunlight broke over Fili sitting in the train station. His suitcase was at his feet and the paper-encased suit was draped over the back of the bench. His hands, unable to be still, were slowly ripping an empty paper coffee cup into a long spiral strip. The static-filled announcement heralded the arrival of his train, and he tossed the decimated cup into a nearby trash can. He made sure he had easy access to his ticket, gathered his things, and headed for the platform. 

This early in the morning, he had a car almost entirely to himself. He laid the suit out as carefully as he could and stowed the small suitcase in the overhead rack. After handing his ticket to the conductor to be punched, he slid as far down in his seat as possible, tilting the fedora over his eyes. He let his mind drift, and his eyes closed. The clatter of the train faded with his consciousness.

He woke when the train gave a particularly sharp lurch. Pushing his hat back on his head, he straightened with a muffled groan and looked out the window. He blinked, not believing his eyes, but they weren’t playing tricks on him. The sign on the platform definitely said Troy. _Did I really sleep the whole way here? Must’ve been more tired than I thought._ He stood and stretched, taking his suitcase down from the rack. Carrying it in one hand with the hanger to his suit slung over his other shoulder, he left the train and headed into the station.

The hotel recommended by a station employee was thankfully close by, and Fili was given a ground floor room with a private bath. The furnishings were old but comfortable, and even his exacting mother could not have found fault with the housekeeping. He hung his suit on the hook behind the door and set the suitcase on a chair. He stripped to the waist in the bathroom and scrubbed a cool cloth over his face, neck, and arms, removing phantom traces of grit and dust from the train ride. He’d have time for a proper bath before his appointment, but he felt more alert now. A clean undershirt and shirt went on, and he felt presentable enough to explore the town a bit.

“Excuse me,” he said to the matronly woman behind the front desk, “can you recommend a place to eat around here?”

“Depends what you’re looking for—are you after a nice place, or are you after good food?”

Fili laughed. “Well, since I can’t eat tablecloths and china, and more than one fork scares me, I’ll settle for good food. Where do people that live around here like to eat?”

“You can’t do better than the Whistle Stop, about a block down from the train station. Prices are good, food is even better, and they make the best cup of joe in town.” She gave him very precise directions. “Trust me, you’ll know it when you see it.”

In a previous life, the Whistle Stop had been a railroad car. Gutted and converted, it now did a brisk business with the locals, if the banter at the long counter was anything to go by. A pretty waitress with copper-tinged curls was taking orders as fast as she could write them down. She looked up and smiled as Fili took one of the last remaining stools. “Be with you in a minute, sir…hey, Tom, Adam and Eve on a raft, and wreck ‘em!” She slapped the order slip on the ledge behind her and the grill man picked it up with a nod. “So what can I get for you? Coffee to start?”

“Yes, please. I’m told yours is really good, which is more than I can say for the stuff at the train station this morning. I’m not sure my stomach lining will ever be the same.” 

The waitress, whose name tag read ‘Rosie’, grimaced. “That’s not coffee, that’s battery acid. Get this inside you, you’ll feel better.” Fili took a sip from the cup—the woman at the hotel had been right, this was a very good cup of joe. “Good?” Rosie asked, and Fili nodded. “What’ll you have to go with that?”

Fili scanned the specials board over the counter. “How about the Number 2, full stack, with extra bacon, and definitely some more of this coffee.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had pancakes and bacon, and he was going to enjoy every bite of it. 

“You got it,” Rosie said, jotting the order down. “It’ll be up in a few. So you came in on the train? Where from?”

Before Fili could reply, a strident voice hollered from the other end of the counter. “Quit your yakking down there and do your job, girlie. Who do I gotta screw around here to get another cup of coffee?”

Rosie rolled her eyes, and Fili bit back a smile. “As long as it’s not me, I really don’t care,” she muttered. Pasting a smile on her face, she turned around. “On my way, Mr. P., had to wait for the new pot. I know how you like it fresh.” She poured the steaming brew for the still-scowling customer, and stopped in front of the two men sitting next to Fili. “Either of you boys need anything else? Can I top off that coffee for you, Sam?”

“Y-yes, please.” The reply from the stocky young man was barely more than a whisper, and was accompanied by a bright flush in his cheeks. He glanced up at Rosie, took a deep breath, and stammered, “Th-that’s a pretty ribbon you’ve got in your hair this morning, Rosie. I—I like it.” Fili watched as Sam’s friend, a bright twinkle in his blue eyes, nudged him, and Sam concentrated on his breakfast much harder than the eggs warranted. _Oh, yeah, he’s got it bad._

Rosie smiled and filled Sam’s cup. “Thank you, Sam. You’re the first one to say anything about it. Freddy, more coffee?”

“Yeah, thanks, Rosie,” Freddy said. “Don’t pay old Mr. Pride any mind; I’d say he got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning, except I’m not sure there is a right side.”

“He needs to mind who he’s bad-mouthing,” Sam said around a mouthful of eggs. He cast a venomous look at the old man, who returned it with a gimlet stare.

“It’s all right, Sam—Rosie knows an idiot when she sees one,” Freddy assured his friend with a wink at the waitress.

Rosie laughed and Sam gulped. “Does she?” he squeaked.

“I do.” Rosie’s smile was wide and bright, coaxing an answering smile out of Sam in return. A holler from Tom at the grill, and Rosie brought a laden plate, butter, and a bottle of syrup over to Fili. “Dig in, and I’ll get you a refill on the coffee in a minute.”

She went to the other end of the counter to hand a customer his bill, and Sam watched her go, his eggs solidifying on his plate. _I hope he never plays poker,_ Fili thought, cutting into his pancakes, _he doesn’t know how to hide a thing._ Freddy leaned over to his friend. “So when are you gonna get up the nerve to ask her out? Pretty girl like that won’t wait forever, you know.”

“I—I don’t know, what if she says no?”

“Then you’ll be no worse off than you are now, will you? C’mon, you can do this. Even if it’s just a movie, it’s something.”

Sam muttered something unintelligible and went back to eating his breakfast. Freddy shook his head. “I give up. Finish up, we’re gonna be late.”

Rosie came back with the coffee pot and refilled Fili’s cup. “How are they?” she asked, indicating the half-empty plate.

“Best I’ve ever had,” Fili answered. “My compliments to the chef.”

Rosie laughed. “Hear that, Tom? You’re a chef now,” she called over her shoulder, and the grill man gave Fili a grin and a salute. “You boys about ready for your bill?” Rosie asked Freddy and Sam.

Sam nodded, took a last swig from his coffee cup, then blurted, “D’you think maybe you might like to go to a movie with me some night you don’t have to or anything but I just thought I’d ask in case you might want to sometime…” The words ran together and cut off as Sam ran out of breath, and Freddy bit his lip to keep from laughing.

Rosie’s face lit up. “I would love to go see a movie with you, Sam. How about tomorrow night?”

“Really? Uh, I mean, yeah, tomorrow night would be great. I’m not sure what’s playing right now, though.”

“I saw that new picture _San Francisco_ yesterday. If that’s playing around here I’ll bet you’d like it,” Fili put in, pouring more syrup on his pancakes. 

“That just opened at the Rialto. I was going to see it next week. How about that one?” Rosie asked, and Sam nodded, with a smile on his face to match Rosie’s. She scribbled something on her order pad, tore it off, and handed it to Sam. “There’s my address and phone; I’m right around the corner. Unless you’d rather meet me at the theater.”

“No, I…I’ll come pick you up. I’ll check the times and give you a call later, okay? It’s a date, then. We have a date.”

“We have a date,” Rosie affirmed. She held out the two checks for their meals, but Sam was so busy looking at the precious piece of paper in his hand that he was paying no attention. Freddy laughed and took them, steering his friend to the register to pay. Rosie watched them go, then brought a fresh pot of coffee over to Fili. “Ready for that refill?”

“Yes, thank you.” 

Rosie filled the cup, turned to put the pot away, and froze for a moment. “Angie, did you see a little guy leave? Not a regular. Skinny, looked kinda gray, kept clearing his throat?” she called to the cashier.

“Not ringing a bell, but I had to leave the register for a minute. Maybe he’s in the gents’.” 

“I just came out of there,” a man in coveralls said. “There was nobody in there but me.”

Rosie set the coffee pot on the warmer and went down to the end of the counter where the customer had been sitting. She picked up his plate and coffee cup, and set them back down with a thump and a huff, sloshing what remained of the coffee onto the saucer. She stood for a moment, shoulders drooping, then picked up the dishes, scraping them into the trash with more force than was strictly necessary. Fili couldn’t hear what she was muttering to herself, but it was probably not complimentary to the man.

Fili frowned. He’d seen the same reaction from Jeannie when a customer had left without paying. His suspicions were confirmed as he overheard her say to one of the locals, “That’s the third one this month. I know times are hard, but they’re hard for me, too, and Alfrid said the next one was coming out of my paycheck.”

“Well, if the old skinflint would put another waitress on in the morning, maybe you’d have time to notice someone leaving.”

“Keep dreaming. There go my tips for the day.”

Fili finished up the last bite of pancake, washed it down with the coffee, and savored the last bit of bacon. Wiping his mouth and fingers on a paper napkin, he reached into his pocket for his wallet. “Could I have my check, please, miss?”

Rosie took a deep breath and managed a smile. “Sure thing,” she said, tearing off the check and laying it on the counter. 

“Will you do me a favor? Add on whatever that guy owed you, and I’ll take care of it.”

“Hey, you can’t do that—“

Fili smiled. “For probably the first time in my life, I actually can. I’ve never stiffed a waitress, but only because I had a place to go where I could work for a good meal if I needed it. A lot of folks aren’t that lucky. And things have been good for me lately. Let me pay for it.”

“If you’re sure…” Fili nodded, and Rosie re-totaled the bill. “Thanks,” she said, handing it to him with a heartfelt smile. 

“My pleasure.” He glanced at the clock by the door. “And I need to get out of here. Thanks for the great breakfast, and have a good time tomorrow night. I think you’re really going to like the movie. Oh, and take a hankie; you might need it toward the end. But in a good way.” 

Fili touched the brim of his hat in farewell, paid his bill and left a generous tip, and walked out into the street. Troy wasn’t a pretty town—at least the part of it he was currently in—but to his eyes it seemed as golden as the Jerusalem that Jeannette McDonald had sung about.

__

Back at the hotel, he indulged himself with the luxury of a long soak, replenishing the hot water twice. Like the pancakes, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d gotten to do that, if indeed he ever had. A hot bath back home meant heating water up on the stove to pour into a cold bath, a good bit of work for little reward. It was generally in and out quickly before the water cooled too much. This was heaven.

He pulled himself out of the tub reluctantly, toweled off, shaved and dressed. He surveyed his reflection in the mirror, straightening his tie one last time to give his hands something to do. He looked as good as he was likely to. Time to stop stalling and get out the door. With his lovely breakfast now sitting like a lump in his stomach, he went out to the desk to request a taxi.

Professor Durin’s house was on a quiet street not far from the Institute. It was larger than Fili expected—two stories surrounded by a manicured lawn and trees that might have predated the town itself. Bright-white shutters shone against the red of the brick, and the flagstones leading up to the door looked clean enough to eat off of. He remembered Bella Tucker telling him the family had had a good bit of money once—this wasn’t a mansion, but he was certain this was not an average home for a professor. 

He walked up to the door, took a deep breath, and rang the bell. After a moment it was opened by a tall, bearded man in an immaculate dark suit. The resemblance between Kili, his mother, and this man left no doubt in Fili’s mind as to whom he was speaking. “Hello, Professor, I’m Philip Oakes.”

“Right on time. Please come in. Would you care to leave your hat by the door?” Fili hung the fedora on the coat tree as Thorin shut the door. “Come into the living room. Did you have any trouble finding the house?”

“I left that up to the cabbie, but you seem to be well-known around here. I was admiring the house from the outside; it’s a handsome place,” Fili commented as he sat in the chair Thorin indicated. 

“The Durins have lived here for a long time,” Thorin said, taking his own seat. “My great-grandfather built it, and the city pretty much grew up around it. It’s been updated over the years, but it’s got solid bones, and God willing it will go to Kili one day.” A shadow passed through the intense blue eyes, as brilliant as Fili had imagined Dis’s eyes to be, and was gone again in an instant. Then those eyes were fixed on him with a questioning frown between them. “Forgive me for asking, Mr. Oakes, but…have we met? You seem familiar to me.”

“No, sir, we haven’t. I think I might just have that kind of face—I’ve had other people ask me that.”

“That must be it.”

“I’d like to thank you for letting me visit, sir. Did you speak to Mrs. Tucker and Miss Gold about me?”

A smile parted the dark beard. “No, I didn’t. If you gave me their names, knowing I could check your story with a phone call, chances were good that I didn’t need to.” Thorin leaned back in his chair. “I was surprised to receive your letter, and I’ll admit I came very close to throwing it away. However, one phrase caught my eye: ‘tell Kili that Fili hopes he will be reaching for the skies again very soon.’ And it was the reason I agreed to let you visit. It solved a mystery. Kili has roused a bit from time to time, and every time he’s done so, he’s said the same word. His nurses and I thought it might be babbling, nonsense, but your letter made sense of it.” Thorin looked directly into Fili’s eyes. “The word was ‘Fili’. Just how well do you know my nephew, Mr. Oakes?”

Seconds ticked by, and Thorin’s gaze never wavered. He was, as Kili has once said, a big man, and at that moment he seemed to fill up the entire room. What could he say? 

_Just say what’s in your heart._ Spencer Tracy’s line from _San Francisco,_ an echo of the advice he’d given Kili, came into his head. It could get him thrown out; it could even get him arrested if Thorin chose to file a complaint. But he owed it to Kili, and to himself, to tell the truth.

“Sometimes, I think I know him better than I’ve ever known anyone in my life, including myself,” he began, a soft smile playing around his lips. “Then I think of all the things I don’t know about him. I don’t know when his birthday is. I don’t know what his favorite color is, though I suspect it might be red.” He saw a brief flash in Thorin’s eyes, and knew he was right. “I don’t know how he takes his coffee, or if he even drinks coffee. But I know some important things about him. I know he’s brilliant, and creative, and brave. I know he kept his treasures in a Cuban cigar box his father brought him back from Florida when he was little, and one of the treasures was his mother’s hair ribbon. I know he still misses them very much. I know he loves kites and he’s pretty good at flying them. I know he’s a dreamer, but he’s a doer, too. I know he wants to build his own plane and fly around the world, even though he knows it will probably give you heart failure. I know he thinks the world of you.

“When I met him, I needed inspiration. I needed a reason to keep going. He gave it to me, helped me find the fire again. I don’t even want to think about where I’d be today if we hadn’t met. So no, I don’t know everything there is to know about him, but I know I want to find out the rest.”

Fili’s gaze dropped down for a moment. There, he’d said it. Let Thorin make of it what he would, and do whatever he would. 

“He’s good at that, isn’t he?” The quiet words caught Fili by surprise, and he flicked his gaze back to Thorin. The professor’s eyes were soft and a bit sad. “Taking something that’s broken and making it sing. An engine, a piece of machinery…a person. He did it for me, and I’m glad he could do it for you. He was going to the city that day to do it for someone else. He’d bought a picture, a self-portrait that wasn’t signed, and it haunted him. He wanted to find the artist, convince him that life would get better…”

Thorin stopped dead and stared at Fili for a moment, then stood. “Wait right there,” he ordered as Fili attempted to rise. He went into another room and came back out a minute later with a picture frame in his hands. He turned it so it was facing Fili. “I thought you looked familiar. This is you, isn’t it?”

Fili looked at the pencil portrait, created during that dark time last winter. There wasn’t a lot of resemblance between the man in the picture and the man Fili was now, but there was no denying the truth. Pieces of the puzzle fell into place, pieces with jagged edges and odd corners that couldn’t possibly fit, but came together seamlessly in the only picture they could create. “Yes, sir, that’s me,” he acknowledged in a near-whisper. “Kili found me. And he did convince me that life would get better.”

Thorin sank into his chair, setting the portrait on a table next to him. “When did you meet my nephew?”

“I met Kili on the afternoon of April first.”

“That’s…not possible.”

“No, sir, it isn’t, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” Fili closed his eyes for a moment, then continued, “I have a story to tell you, and I ask that you hear me out all the way to the end. When I’m finished, if you want to call the cops or the men in the white coats, I won’t try to stop you.”

Thorin fixed him with an unreadable gaze for a moment, then nodded. “Go ahead.”

Fili gathered his thoughts. _St. Jude, help me out here, please._ “It all started with a Cuban cigar box left on a park bench on a cold afternoon…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was scrolling through tumblr the other day and screeched to a halt when I ran across [ Fili from Hollicon:](http://dragon4488.tumblr.com/post/151336856440/hollicon-tokyo-dean-was-very-serious-and)
> 
>  I immediately hollered at the amazing dragon4488 and told her she had reached into my head and found my mental picture of the portrait in my story. And I requested permission to include a link. She graciously said yes, and now all of you know what I was imagining. Most awesome part is -- she didn't even know about the story (tho she does now!) Many thanks, and go check her work out on tumblr and all the awesome illustrations she's been doing for other lucky writers like dandelionpower!
> 
> Adam and Eve on a raft, and wreck 'em is diner lingo, a sadly obsolete form of expression in this day and age, but which was very popular between the 30s-60s. Translation: Adam and Eve=eggs; on a raft=on toast; wreck em=scrambled. Would it be easier to say 'scrambled eggs on toast' Probably, but where's the fun in that?


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A chat with Thorin, and the moment of truth...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, folks, the moment you've been waiting for--hope you like it!

“…And the next day Mrs. Tucker told me what happened to him. That was when I knew I had to come see him. So I wrote to you, and now I’m here, and that’s the whole story. He wasn’t a ghost, he wasn’t a hallucination, he was as real as you or me. I can’t explain it, and I’ve given up trying. All I know is, everything happened just the way I told you, Professor. I swear on my mother’s life.”

Fili fell silent. After weeks of half-truths and outright lies, it had felt good to finally tell the whole story to someone. And he’d told the professor everything, including the dream, though he did leave out the kiss. That was one memory he would carry in his heart forever, no matter what happened today.

The clock on the wall ticked off the seconds into the silence of the room. With each click Fili could feel the tension in his shoulders grow tighter, Thorin hadn’t said a word the entire time, just watched Fili with those unsettling blue eyes, barely blinking or moving. Now the silence stretched between them as Thorin looked away, a frown creasing his forehead. He rose from his chair, crossing the room to the window. Fili’s heart leapt to his throat for an awful instant as Thorin’s fingers reached for the telephone standing on a small table. But they only brushed the receiver, didn’t pick it up. A detached part of Fili’s brain noted that Thorin’s hands were very like those of his nephew—graceful, long-fingered and strong. Like the dark hair and aristocratic nose, they must run in the family—Dis had had them as well.

Thorin stood at the window, the lines around his eyes deepening as he narrowed his gaze against the afternoon sun. Fili was torn between being almost afraid to breathe, not wanting to draw any attention to himself at all, and wanting to stand up and shout _Say something, dammit!_. The seconds stretched into a minute, then two, and then Thorin looked back at Fili, the frown cleared and a smile beginning to take shape.

“I believe you.”

Fili’s mouth didn’t drop open, but only because he had enough presence of mind to keep it closed. “You…do?”

The professor’s eyes glinted with amusement. “You sound surprised.”

“Well, I am. If someone came to me with a story like that, I don’t think I’d be taking it nearly as well. The whole thing’s pretty crazy. The only reason I believe it is because I lived it.”

“It’s as Mr. Doyle said in the Sherlock Holmes stories: ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.’ You know too many things that you couldn’t have learned from anyone else. Therefore I have to conclude that it did indeed happen as you said.”

The tension in Fili’s shoulders suddenly released, leaving him slightly lightheaded. He took a deep breath to steady himself, and said, “But he was here the whole time, so how did he do it? And why? He didn’t know me from Adam.”

Thorin settled back into his chair, the bright blue of his eyes now summer-sky warm. “Let me tell you something about engineers, Mr. Oakes. We are the true believers. Engineering is as much about faith as it is science. We see what is, and we think, ‘What if?’ The first person to make and use a wheel was an engineer, even if the word didn’t exist at the time. He believed there was a better way to get things from one place to another. Roebling believed that his bridge would stand the test of time, and it has, and will continue to do so. The Wright brothers believed their contraption would get off the ground, though many said they were insane…including me,” Thorin added with a wry quirk of his eyebrows. “There are people who believe there will be machines than can think, solve problems, even learn, that it’s not just the stuff of science fiction stories. We have faith, and we believe, and we use science to make those dreams reality. We are dreamers and doers, as you said of Kili.

“For the ‘how’ part of your quandary, you may have noticed that Kili’s interests are wide-ranging. Engineering, mechanics, aeronautics, math, science, and some quite esoteric ones as well. He has books and articles about bilocation—people being in two places at the same time. And he’s read probably every article printed about astral projection--detaching a spirit from a body and sending it out in the world. What I know about them sounds a bit far-fetched to me, but he’s fascinated by it all. He sees them as another form of flying, I think. What I do know is that when Kili wants something badly enough, he can be very…”

“Stubborn?”

“I was going to say single-minded, but obviously you do know him. He was determined to find you, and apparently not even a coma could stop him. And if one believes enough, miracles can happen.” 

Thorin picked the picture up and looked at it. “As far as why he did it, I think the explanation is a lot simpler. In the week after he brought this home, I’d find him staring at it, as though he was trying to burn it into his memory. He said he saw your soul in it, and it was too beautiful a thing to be so broken. He wanted to make it whole again, no matter how you felt in return. Am I correct in thinking his feelings weren’t misplaced?”

 _Oh, I am going to owe St. Jude so much for this._. “Yes, sir, you are. But I’m surprised that this doesn’t bother you at all.”

“I’ve been aware of his…leanings for some time. He was man enough to come to me and tell me himself when he was eighteen, though I suspected before that. He is who he is. Does your family know about you?”

Fili nodded. “Yes. My dad never spoke to me again, and my mother doesn’t quite understand, but she accepts that I’m not going to change. I think she’d really rather have grandkids, though.”

That pulled a smile out of Thorin. “Personally, I think I’m too old now to handle a young version of Kili—there were times I wasn’t sure I’d survive the original.” The smile faded, and his eyes went sapphire and serious. “That said, do I wish Kili was different? Yes. There are far too many people who will look at that part of him and ignore the rest of what makes him so remarkable. And it angers me that he has to hide who he loves. Maybe one day the world will change, but I likely won’t be around to see it. However, if Kili has someone at his side to stand against the storm with him, that will be enough for me.” 

Thorin rose from his chair, the picture still in his hand. “You’ve listened to me talk long enough. It’s time to take you in to him. I’ve given his nurse the afternoon off, so it’s just the three of us. You’ll be able to say anything you want to him. Don’t expect much, if anything, but I think if anyone can bring him back, it might be you.”

What might have been a parlor at one time had been converted into a bedroom. The heavy drapes were pulled back from floor-to-ceiling windows, and light filtered through sheer curtains, casting a gentle glow over the room. A radio played in one corner, tuned to a soft music channel. A comfortable armchair was situated near the head of the bed, with a tall lamp standing nearby. A bookcase held a number of books and assorted magazines, and a vase of fresh flowers stood on the nightstand. It was as homey and inviting a place as anyone could ask for, the ideal spot to recover strength and health.

Fili took all this in at a glance, registering it and dismissing it. His full attention was on the occupant of the bed. Propped up on pillows and tucked between pristine sheets, Kili seemed swallowed up by the bed, though it wasn’t a large one. The dark curls were still there, longer than Fili remembered them, and the thick lashes. The long fingers resting above the blankets were fragile as twigs, the cheekbones stretched against translucent skin, and sturdy shoulders seemed shrunk under the hospital gown. 

But it wasn’t just the physical change that jarred him. Something was off, and it took a moment to realize what was causing the dissonance. Kili was just too still. The vital, active young man he knew, the one who all but vibrated with energy, was slumbering somewhere inside that frail body. And fairy tale assurances to the contrary, somehow he didn’t think that a kiss was going to wake this sleeping beauty. No, it was going to take a bit more work than that.

Fili pulled the armchair a little closer to the bed and sat, taking one of Kili’s hands in both of his. For all it was so thin there was still strength, and warmth, and Fili smiled. Perhaps Kili was not as far below the surface as he seemed. How to bring him the rest of the way out? He closed his eyes for a moment, opened his mouth, and just let the words come.

“Hi, Kili. You know, if you wanted me to visit, you could at least have told me where you lived. I might have gotten here a lot sooner. I’m glad you’re alive, and safe, but you know what? I think you’ve been goldbricking long enough now. You’ve got work to do. Your professor can’t design that plane all by himself. Your uncle misses you; I know your Auntie Bella misses you, she said so when I talked to her. And I miss you, too.”

Fili stopped, not even daring to breathe. Was that the tiniest pressure on his hand? Kili’s eyes under the closed lids danced from side to side, and there was a minute movement of his head. The logical part of Fili’s mind told him that this was most likely normal, just muscle twitches. But his heart didn’t run on logic, and his heart was what had brought him here. It was time to take his own advice again and listen to what his heart told him to do.

“Do you remember when you said I knew your story? Well, you were wrong. Your story isn’t finished yet, and you’re the only one who can tell it. You have things to build, discoveries to make, and worlds to conquer. You’ve got a lifetime of stories left to tell. And I’m hoping you’ll let me tell some of them with you.”

Pale lips opened and a whisper almost too low to hear filtered out: “Fili…”

“That’s right, Kili,” Fili said, pushing the words past the lump in his throat. Thorin was forgotten—right now it was just himself and Kili in the room. “I’m here, and I’m not letting you go away again, not when I’ve spent my whole life looking for someone like you. There’s still so much I don’t know about you. I want to see that plane you’re building. I want to be there when you tell the world about your parents when they open the theatre. I want to know what you like for breakfast, and if you snore in your sleep. I want to throw snowballs at you in the winter—I’ll bet you know how to build a great snow fort. All the things I never thought I could have, I want to have them with you. You need to come home, and get well. You’ve got a heart full of dreams and a head smart enough to make them happen. It’s like your uncle said—you’re a true believer, like he is.” 

“And like his mother was,” came a soft, low voice from the other side of the bed. Fili glanced over at Thorin as he sat on the edge of the mattress, taking Kili’s other hand in his. There was hope in his face, and fear, and so much love that Fili had to look away, feeling like an intruder. He concentrated on Kili, who was now slowly moving his head from side to side, eyelids flickering. 

“Fili.” It was louder now, a murmur rather than a whisper, in a voice rusty from disuse. “Uncle…Mama…Papa…home…”

“That’s it, you’re almost here. Just a little more, lad.” Thorin’s voice was calm and steady, despite the tears standing in his eyes. “I know it’s hard, but you can do it. You can do anything you set your mind to. Hold on to both of us, and find your way home.”

This time Fili was certain he didn’t imagine it—he could feel Kili’s fingers curling around his. And from the sharp intake of breath, he knew Thorin had felt it on his side, too. He tightened his own grip, praying to any deity that would listen, and watched as Kili’s eyes cracked open, shut again, then opened wider and stayed open. 

The brown gaze was as unfocused as that of a newborn kitten, but after three slow blinks recognition filtered in, along with the tiniest smile. “Uncle?”

“Welcome back, Kili.” Thorin’s smile was wide and bright, and he paid no heed to the tears tracking down his cheeks and into his beard. 

“Back? Where was I?” Kili stopped, passing a dry tongue over dry lips. “Thirsty…”

Thorin disengaged his hand from his nephew’s and reached for the glass on the nightstand. Sliding one hand under the dark head, he held the glass to Kili’s lips. “Easy, now, small sips.” Fili watched as Thorin dribbled in a few drops at a time, and Kili’s throat worked it down. He sat as still as possible, not wanting to do anything to interrupt this moment. His artist’s gaze took it all in and committed it to memory for resurrection at another time. 

“Better?” Thorin asked as he set the half-full glass down.

Kili gave a tiny nod. “Feel so weak. How long have I been…gone?”

“Nearly three months. Far longer than I would have liked, but you’re back now. Just promise me you won’t ever do that again.”

“Promise.”

“You have a visitor.” Thorin inclined his head toward Fili, and Kili’s eyes tracked the movement. The questioning look he gave Fili only lasted a moment, then came the smile, delicate as dawn and every bit as beautiful.

“You found me.”

If a human heart could break from happiness, Fili was sure his would have exploded into tiny fragments. He swallowed hard and answered Kili’s smile with one of his own. “I promised I would, didn’t I? It was the least I could do, since you came to find me.”

Kili’s smile faded, and his gaze shifted back to Thorin. “Uncle, I…”

“It’s all right, Kili. He told me everything. I’m going to let you two talk for a moment. I need to call your doctor.” Thorin rose from the bed and gave Kili’s hand one more gentle squeeze. Then with a nod and a look of almost palpable gratitude toward Fili, he left the room, pulling the door partly closed behind him.

Kili watched his uncle leave. He tried lifting his free hand off the mattress, and only succeeded in elevating it a few inches before dropping it in exhaustion. “Three months. No wonder I can’t move.”

“You will soon enough. I can’t see anything short of a full body cast keeping you down for long. How much do you remember?” 

“About the accident? Nothing. About you? Everything.” There was the sunrise smile again, and Fili thought he could spend a lifetime seeing it and it would never fail to dazzle him.

Kili paused, then said, “Uncle Thorin said you told him everything. Did you tell him about you?” Fili nodded. “Weren’t you afraid? I know I was when I told him about me.”

“I was scared down to my socks. I thought the least that would happen would be him chucking me out on my ear. But I think you and I have a shot at something that guys like us don’t usually get. I didn’t want it to start out with a lie. We do have a shot, don’t we? I mean, you were saying my name while you were in a coma—that has to count for something.”

“I hope so. It was why I asked you to wait for me to grow up.” 

There was a tap at the door and Thorin entered. “Dr. Rafferty will be over in about an hour—he had a patient he couldn’t put off. He was delighted to hear you’re awake, but he is insisting that you rest until he gets here.”

There was a mulish crease between Kili’s eyes. “And what does he think I’ve been doing for three months?” Then, quieter, with an edge of panic: “What happens if I go back to sleep and don’t wake up again?” 

“You found your way home; you won’t get lost again, not when there is someone here waiting for you.” To Fili, Thorin added, “For the record, his birthday is July 19, his favorite color is red, and he takes his coffee with lots of cream and sugar.”

“Oh, not another one,” Fili groaned. To the twin questioning looks he said, “It’s a long story, I’ll tell you later. Kili, you do what your doctor says, and I’ll see you later. We have a lot more to talk about.” He was saying what needed to be said, not what he wanted to say, and he couldn’t quite convince his fingers to let go of Kili’s hand. 

“Stay till I fall asleep, please?” The little boy Fili had first met was there again in Kili’s eyes, and Fili could feel his heart turn over in his chest. If he could have, he’d have crawled into bed with Kili and held him, daring the darkness to come back and reclaim him

“He’s not going anywhere,” Thorin assured his nephew with a glance at Fili. “Are you staying here in town, Mr. Oakes?”

“Call me Fili, sir, please. I’m at a hotel near the train station.”

“While Kili is resting and we wait for the doctor, why don’t you get your things and come back here. I’ll get a room ready for you.”

“I don’t want to impose, sir…”

“It’s not an imposition. In fact, you’ll probably be doing me a favor. This one might actually rest if he knows you’ll be here.”

“And I won’t rest if you don’t.” The words were defiant, but eyelids fringed by dark lashes were already drooping with exhaustion—the spirit may have been willing but the flesh was ready to throw in the towel. 

“All right, you win. Close your eyes now; I’ll stay.” 

Lids settled over eyes, and Kili was asleep within seconds. The stillness now was a natural one, a body resting and letting itself heal instead of one in limbo. Breaths were slow and steady, and there was a tiny smile on his lips. Fili waited until his grip relaxed before easing his hand free. Kili was home, and he wouldn’t roam again. It was safe to let go now.

Thorin rose from his side of the bed, careful not to jostle his nephew. His hand reached out and brushed a curl off Kili’s forehead, then he led Fili out of the room. He fumbled a handkerchief out of his pocket to wipe eyes that were welling up again. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “I’m sorry,” he told Fili, a flush creeping up his cheeks. “I don’t know what’s come over me.”

“I’m betting you could use a rest as much as he can. At least sit down and close your eyes until the doctor gets here.”

“I have to call Bella and Ben first, they’ll want to know.” Thorin looked back over his shoulder at his sleeping nephew. Then he looked back at Fili and held out a hand. “Thank you, Fili. Thank you for bringing my boy home.”

“He followed both of us home, sir, but I’m glad I was here to help. Let me go get my things from the hotel. May I use your phone? I need to call a cab.”

“Help yourself. And I think I might just close my eyes for a few minutes if you don’t mind.”

Fili opened the phone book, found the number for the cab company, and placed the call. As he hung up he heard a soft snore behind him. Thorin’s head was resting against the side of the wing chair, eyes closed and face peaceful. Three months of waiting, and now he could breathe again. Fili smiled, crossed to the front door, took his hat, and let himself out. _Rest, Professor, you’ve earned it_.

Fili went to the end of the walk to wait for the cab. What a day this had been. He should have been nearly as exhausted as Thorin, after a long train ride, little sleep, and an overload of nerves. But he’d never felt better, and he couldn’t keep a grin off his face. He imagined he looked like an idiot to the cabbie when he arrived, but he was too happy to care. Kili was awake, he remembered Fili, and hopefully there would be some answers to his many questions soon. And even if there weren’t, if Kili himself didn’t know the answers, Fili decided it didn’t matter. Miracles by definition didn’t need explanation, they just were. And his miracle would be taking the world by storm again soon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> John A Roebling: master of the suspension bridge, considered more than a bit avant garde at the time. The Roebling Suspension Bridge in Ohio and the Brooklyn Bridge in New York, among others, are testaments to his vision and genius.
> 
> The Wright Brothers -- pretty much everyone has heard the story of the historic flight at Kitty Hawk, twelve seconds that changed the world. Self-taught engineers with imaginations that never stopped working, their three-axis control remains a fixture on fixed-wing aircraft to this day, and the flight at Kitty Hawk was considered the first successful airplane flight, though others had developed flying machines before that.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Getting to know each other, and a couple of questions answered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was trying to find a 'modern' last name that would work for Dain, and I stumbled upon Pedeferro, which in Italian means 'iron foot'! It is also the name of a noble Paduan family. Seemed appropriate.
> 
> The full Kipling poem referenced in the story is called If, and it's one of my all time favorites. You can find the full text here: https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poems-and-poets/poems/detail/46473
> 
> Dr. Sid Rafferty is based on (and is the namesake of) a character played on a short lived TV show by Patrick McGoohan of Secret Agent and The Prisoner fame. He was a former Army medic who went into private practice at a hospital -- smart,tough, no nonsense but with a caring streak a mile wide. I like to think of my Sid as perhaps his dad.

Fili arrived back at the house an hour and a half later, suitcase in hand. Thorin let him in, greeting him with a full smile. “Welcome back, Fili. Dr. Rafferty’s just finishing his examination. Leave your case there; we’ll get you settled in later.”

“How much of a nap did you manage to get?” Fili asked, setting the suitcase down and hanging up his hat.

“About half an hour, and my neck isn’t terribly happy with me right now. But aside from that I feel much better.”

Dr. Rafferty was putting his stethoscope into his bag when Thorin and Fili arrived at Kili’s door. “So, Sid, how is your patient?” Thorin asked.

“I’m at a loss—and you know I don’t say that lightly.” The doctor’s voice still carried a brogue, lightened by years and distance, but Ireland’s roots ran deep in her children. “Most people come out of comas with some impairments, but aside from the expected amount of muscle and weight loss, this young man appears to have been through nothing worse than a very long nap. There are a few minor memory gaps, but speech and cognitive functions are otherwise normal. We can either chalk it up to my reputation as a miracle worker, or to Durin pigheadedness. I lean toward the latter. Stubbornness doesn’t just run in your blood; it could qualify for the Kentucky derby.”

“Amen.” It wasn’t until he heard Kili’s weak laugh that Fili realized he’d actually said that out loud. He could feel his face heat as Dr. Rafferty’s gaze turned to him.

“And who might you be, young man?”

“Philip Oakes, sir. I was lucky enough to be visiting when Kili woke up.”

“He and my nephew have been friends since Kili was a boy,” Thorin said. Fili saw a flicker of surprise shoot through Kili’s eyes, then a smile for his uncle.

“Whatever the reason, the result is that you are a very fortunate young man, Kili Vivirson. I’ve no doubt that in a few weeks you’ll be your old self and giving your uncle even more gray hair.”

“Weeks?” Fili had to bite back a laugh at the look of sheer dismay on Kili’s face.

“Yes, weeks. It took you three months to get into the shape you’re in. It will take some time to reverse that.” Dr. Rafferty took a pad and pencil out of his pocket. “I’m prescribing a diet that you’re not going to like at all to start with, and no badgering your housekeeper for something different. Remember, your stomach hasn’t had anything solid in it for a long time, so unless you really want to give poor Hannah a load of extra work, you’ll behave yourself. We’ll see how you do on liquids and soft foods for a few days.”

“You were in the Army, Doc—isn’t that against the Geneva Convention?”

“Possibly, but as your uncle can verify, I can be quite cruel when I wish. I’ll make you a deal—if you’re a good lad and do as you’re told, the first steak is on me. Don’t be surprised if you sleep a lot for the next couple of days, the simplest things are going to wear you out. Don’t fight the sleep, you’ll get past it soon enough. And Thorin, there’s an old friend of yours on staff at the hospital. Dain Pedeferro is running the physical therapy section, but if you ask he might just be willing to take on a private patient. It’ll be like old times.”

“Sid saved my leg after Belleau Wood, and Dain helped me to walk again,” Thorin told Fili and Kili. “If we can get him to come, you couldn’t have a better team in your corner, Kili. He’ll work you hard, but you’ll be glad he did.”

“That sounds good to me. And I’ll survive the diet, but I’m going to hold you to that steak, Doc. Hey, pancakes are soft, right?”

Dr. Rafferty’s brows came down in a formidable frown that Fili might have believed were it not for the twinkle in his eyes. “Incorrigible, and you’re only half Durin. I’m going to send someone over with a wheelchair this evening—it will make taking care of business a bit easier on everyone. Though I’m sure you think you could carry him if necessary, Thorin, and you might be able to without throwing your back out or giving yourself a hernia. You’re not in too bad shape for an old academic.”

“Oh, really? Remind me just who won the last time we sparred, Sid? This ‘old academic’s’ memory might be playing tricks on him.”

“It was a lucky punch and you know it. Hardly Marquess of Queensberry,” Sid shot back, the twinkle in his eyes even brighter. “My prescription for you is several good nights’ sleep, and a holiday when Kili’s back on his feet again. After that, we’ll set up a rematch.” He clicked his bag shut and hefted it. “Well, I have other patients with more urgent problems to see to. I’ll check on you tomorrow, and if you have any problems at all, you let me know immediately. Good to have you back, Kili.”

“Good to be back, Doc.” 

“I’ll see you out, Sid. Kili, you try to rest some more. I’m going to see Hannah about that diet.” Thorin and the doctor left the room, and Kili leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes. 

“Do you want me to leave so you can sleep?” Fili asked.

Kili shook his head. “I want you here. We’ve got a lot to talk about. Most of it can wait until later, but I have to know one thing—what happened with the kite painting?”

Fili grinned. “It’s got a new home, and you are going to love this.” Fili relayed the whole story, complete with Ori’s subterfuge, and had Kili laughing so hard he was gasping. “So now I’ve got a serious bank balance and I’m starting to get that reputation you talked about. And it’s all because of you.”

Kili shook his head. “No, it was all you. I might have helped a little, but you’re the one who told the story. It’s what you were born to do. I saw that when I saw the picture you did of yourself.”

“I wanted to ask about that. Why? What did you see in that picture that made you want to come find me? There are probably thousands of self-portraits around. Mine was nothing special.”

“Yes, it was. I could see a man who was losing himself, who had been beaten down so many times he didn’t see a reason to get back up again, but he wanted to. He wasn’t ready to quit. It reminded me of a poem I learned in school, something about holding on when there’s nothing left in you except the will that says ‘hold on’.”

“I know that poem—Kipling, isn’t it?”

“I think so. And if something as simple as pencil on paper could tell me so much, you were very special. You told your story in that picture, and I couldn’t walk away from it. Or from you. I wanted to give you a reason to keep going. You needed to remember why you started to draw in the first place. You needed to believe again.”

Kili nestled back into the pillows again. “Doc was right, I think I do need to rest some more, but I don’t want you to go. Would you read to me for a while? Uncle Thorin used to read to me, or just sit and tell me about his day. I didn’t always understand what he said, but I always heard him. I knew I wasn’t alone.”

“What would you like to hear?” Fili scanned the titles, seeing several old friends, and one in particular made him smile. “How about _Treasure Island_?”

“I’ve probably read that so many times I can recite it. It would be good to fall asleep to.”

“It’s one of my favorites, too. Anyplace you’d like me to start?”

“Anywhere you want, I just want to listen to your voice.”

“All right. Close your eyes.” Fili leafed through the book until he found the section he was looking for, and launched into Jim Hawkins’ account of hiding in an apple barrel as a mutiny was being planned by Long John Silver. By the time Jim met mad Ben Gunn, Kili was sound asleep. 

Fili closed the book and watched Kili for a moment. He looked so peaceful, and yes, he did snore, ever so slightly. Fili rose from the chair, and after a glance over his shoulder to make sure they were alone, leaned forward and placed a feather-soft kiss on Kili’s forehead. “I believe, Kili. You made me believe.”

After a welcome glass of cold lemonade, Thorin took him up to his room. Small but well-appointed, it was light and airy, with floor-to-ceiling windows open to what breeze there was. “I apologize for not having something better for you, but a lot of the house has been closed off for a while now.” 

“This room hasn’t been closed off. There’s not a speck of dust anywhere,” Fili observed. “And I know the look and smell of furniture polish--Mama has a dresser of her grandmother’s, and she gives it a once-over every week.” 

Thorin smiled. “Caught red-handed. This was my sister’s room, long ago. Kili and I would sit in here and talk about her a lot when he first came to live with me. Kili would clean and polish the furniture, I’d dust and make the bed. It helped both of us deal with her passing. We fell into the habit of maintaining it over the years. I’m sure Dr. Freud would have something interesting to say about that. Anyway, I think she’d like you staying here.”

“I’m honored.”

“If you’d like to rest for a while, I can call you for supper. I’m going to sit with Kili for a bit. It seems silly, I know, since he’s sleeping but…”

“You still can’t quite believe he’s back.”

Thorin’s smile turned rueful. “I keep waiting to wake up and find out it was a dream. Like all the other times.” He ran a hand over the edge of the gleaming dresser.

“How did you do it, Professor? How did you keep going all that time?” 

“In my family, we were all brought up to do what needed to be done. Stay in control, get through the crisis, keep up a good front. It’s what Dis did that night at the theatre, and it’s what I tried to do here. Sometimes it was hard, and sometimes I had to let it out. I took out a lot of my frustration on this house—I made overdue repairs, did a few improvements, and the grounds haven’t looked this good in years. So I suppose there was a silver lining to all this. And I found myself telling Kili about it, too. Even if he couldn’t hear me, it made me feel better. I knew he’d understand.”

“He did hear you, sir.” An eyebrow arched in surprise, and Fili explained, “He told me he always knew when you were there, even if he didn’t always know what you said.”

“Well, it sounds like he carried on the family tradition without even knowing it. Durin blood runs deep.” Thorin’s smile was proud, and Fili felt a pang of envy, quickly stifled. What was it like to have that kind of unwavering love and support? “Make yourself comfortable, and I’ll see you later.”

Fili shrugged out of his jacket and hung it in the wardrobe along with his tie. He undid the collar of his shirt and stretched out on the bed, but he was still too keyed up to nap. After a few minutes, he got up and rummaged in his suitcase, pulling out a sketchpad and pencil. He propped the pillows up against the headboard, leaned against them, and flipped open the pad. He closed his eyes for a moment, pulling the memory into focus, then set to work. Line followed line, falling into place with little conscious thought, much as they had the day he’d first drawn Kili.

He signed it and closed the pad just as Thorin knocked on the door. “Kili’s asleep again for the moment. Getting some broth into him wore him out, but he took it all.”

“No complaining about not having real food?” Fili asked.

“Surprisingly, no. The complaints are coming from Hannah. She desperately wants to feed him back up. I told her she’d have to be patient for a little while. So her annoyance is manifesting itself in far too much food for us. I hope you’re hungry.”

Fili consulted his stomach and was pleasantly surprised to find it receptive to the idea. “As a matter of fact, I am, very. I expect I can do justice to seconds, possibly even thirds.”

“That will please her. Come down when you’re ready, and don’t worry about your jacket or tie. There’s no need to stand on ceremony, and it gives me an excuse not to wear them. It’s still far too warm.”

“When in Rome,” Fili said, laughing. 

“By the way, I thought you were supposed to be resting,” the professor said, nodding toward the sketchpad.

“My brain had other ideas. I have something for you—kind of a gift for the host.” Fili detached the drawing from the pad and handed it to Thorin. “Kili said I tell stories with my work, and this was a story that wanted to be told.”

The sketch showed Thorin, eyes shining even in the stark black-and-white rendering, supporting Kili’s head as he drank. There was fragility and strength, support and comfort, and above all there was love and healing, two lives beginning to be made whole again. 

“This is…I don’t know what to say except thank you.” Thorin held the paper as if it were spun glass, ready to shatter at a breath. “Does it have a title?”

“’A Helping Hand’.”

Thorin nodded in agreement. “Kili is right, you do tell stories with your work. This is beautiful. I’m going to put this someplace safe and show it to Kili after supper. And tomorrow I’m having it framed as a reminder of today. Not that I need one.”

“I’m pretty sure this is a day neither of us will ever forget, but I’m glad you like the sketch. I’ll see you downstairs.”

Supper was plentiful and excellent, and both men did ample justice to it under Hannah’s watchful eye. “What is there about me that makes people want to feed me?” Fili wondered to Thorin’s amusement, after the housekeeper placed a second piece of pie in front of him with a look that dared him to refuse. “I’ve already got a waistcoat that doesn’t quite fit anymore. I’m going to need a whole new wardrobe soon.”

“Nothing at all wrong with a man having some meat on his bones,” Hannah sniffed. “And that one,” she added, glaring at Thorin, “has been living on coffee and air for the last three months.” 

“I know I’ve been a trial, Hannah, but things are going to get back to normal soon, with Kili eating you out of house and home again.”

“It can’t happen soon enough for me. I’m going to warm up some more broth for him. It’s good to see your appetite is coming back, Professor.” She gave his shoulder a motherly pat as she bustled out of the room.

Kili was able to hold the cup with the broth himself when he woke up, taking it in small sips with frequent pauses. “Uncle, I can do this. You don’t need to hover.”

“I’m not hovering.” Thorin resolutely folded his hands in his lap to prove it, and Fili swallowed back a laugh.

“You are hovering--and I appreciate it.” Kili finished the last of the broth and set the cup down on the nightstand. He was looking better already, Fili thought, more color in his cheeks and fewer shadows around his eyes. “Three months. I know you’ve got questions, Fili, and so do I, but if it’s okay with you, we can talk more about them tomorrow. My brain is still too fuzzy. Tonight, I need you both to talk to me. What’s been going on in the world? If nothing else, I’ve missed three months of _The Lone Ranger_. Did he catch the Cavendish gang?”

Thorin threw back his head and laughed, and the joy in it was palpable. “I knew you were going to ask about that when you woke up, I just knew it! So I’ve been keeping tabs on it for you.” The professor launched into a recap of the show, with Kili hanging on every word. 

“So you’re still a fan of cowboys after all these years?” Fili asked when the narrative was over. “Did you get to see them when you went out west?”

“You remembered that?” Kili looked equally surprised and pleased by the question. “I did see some, and one tried to teach me to throw a lasso. It went about as well as you’d expect, but it was fun. And someplace I think I’ve still got the bullet he gave me. Now I want to hear about you. I know some things, but not enough. Tell me about your friends at the café. Their pictures in your sketchbook were wonderful.”

Fili painted a word picture of his adopted family, of Vanna’s acceptance and generosity, Bofur’s great good humor, Miriam’s gentle kindness, Bombur’s near-magical ability to keep everything running smoothly at the café even during the busiest times. “And I’m under orders to bring you to visit when you’re well enough to travel—Vanna made me promise.” 

“You told her about me?”

Fili nodded. “The only thing that upset her was that I hadn’t told her about you sooner.” 

“I can’t wait to meet them.” 

Hannah came in with more broth for Kili, and lemonade for Fili and Thorin. “Thought you boys could do with a bit of refreshment, and Kili, you need to eat a bit more.“

Kili’s face lit up. “Just the person I want to see. Hannah, you always know all the good gossip. Sit down for a minute and fill me in. What’s your family been up to? Did your niece have the baby?” 

“I’ll talk if you eat,” she said, holding the cup out to him. Kili dutifully did as he was told, and Thorin vacated his chair to allow her to sit, perching on the edge of the bed instead. Fili sipped his lemonade and watched the three of them, another family not wholly formed by blood but no less bonded. Hannah regaled them with tales of the neighborhood, the new grand-nephew who was, by her account, the most beautiful baby in the world, the brother-in-law who had finally found full time work, and other mundane life events that brought the world back into focus for Kili. 

“Well, I still have work to finish, so I’ll leave you three to it,” Hannah said, collecting the glasses and cups and placing them on the tray. She smoothed sheets that were already straight, and plumped pillows that didn’t need it. “Now, no sitting up all night talking, you hear me? You’ll need your sleep. And I’m going to ask the doctor if it’s all right for you to have some butterscotch pudding tomorrow. That always made you feel better when you were sick.”

“Hannah, you’re an angel.”

She placed a plump hand on his cheek, and Kili leaned into the caress. “You’ll be up and about in no time, you’ll see.”

“With you and Uncle Thorin looking after me, I don’t doubt it at all. Goodnight, Hannah.” She gave Kili’s cheek a final pat, picked up the tray and left the room. “I’m going to get smothered, aren’t I?” he asked when she was out of earshot.

“Well, I promise to keep mine to a minimum, but I leave Hannah to you. And then there’s Bella.”

“You called Auntie Bella?”

“I did--and I may have permanent hearing loss from her scream. I finally persuaded her to give you a few days before she visits. And I also called Dwalin. He told me to tell you he’s missed you, too.”

“Somehow that doesn’t quite sound like Professor Fundinson.”

“Well, maybe it was a bit more along the lines of ‘tell him to haul his lazy arse out of bed and come back to work.’” Thorin’s voice dropped half a register and took on a heavy Scots burr, and Kili laughed. “But he does miss you—he’s called every week. He’s been working on plans for the plane, and he said he’s going to come by with some ideas he’s got for the engine when you’re up to it.”

“I can’t wait to get back at it. I feel so useless just lying here. There’s so much to do. And I know it’s been three months, but that just makes it worse. All that time wasted.”

The laugh burst out of Fili before he could stop it. “I was right—you’re not happy unless you’re reinventing the wheel every other week. Professor, I wish you luck.”

Kili had the good grace to look chagrined. “I do sound like a brat, don’t I? I’ll try to be patient, I promise. But I won’t stay in this bed any longer than I have to. Speaking of which…Uncle Thorin, would you mind helping me to the bathroom? I’d like to try walking.”

“I think you’ll be lucky if you can stand right now—you’re going to use the wheelchair to get there. No, don’t argue with me,” Thorin said, pre-empting the protest he could see flashing in Kili’s eyes. “There will be other trips, and I’ll be happy to let you walk as much as you can later. But this time, humor me. It’s your first time up, and I’d like to get you there and back without incident.”

Kili’s brow furrowed, and Fili thought he was going to balk, but then his face cleared and he nodded. “All right, get the chair.”

Kili swayed slightly on the edge of the bed when Thorin sat him up and swung his legs over the side, but he put both hands down to steady himself. “Maybe the chair was a good idea,” he murmured. 

“As I said, there will be time to get ambitious later.” Thorin set the chair parallel to the bed. “Hold my shoulders the best you can, and we’ll stand and turn on three.” He got his arms locked around Kili’s waist, counted to three, and pivoted him into the chair in a smooth, fluid transfer. 

“That looked very professional, sir,” Fili said.

“I helped look after my grandfather in the last years of his life. Some things you never forget.” Thorin bent and set Kili’s feet on the footrests, and Fili took the blanket from the end of the bed, tucking it around Kili’s thin legs. “Ready, lad?” Kili nodded. “We’ll be back in a few minutes.”

While they were gone, Fili picked up the self-portrait and looked at it. Odd how the lowest point in his life could open a road to the highest one. Today had been amazing, and it was all thanks to this picture. He didn’t know how or why fate had brought them together, but he knew he was where he was meant to be.

He set the picture back down on the table as Thorin and Kili came back in. “Do I have to get back in bed, Uncle?” Kili asked.

“Oh, does that bring back memories!” Thorin laughed, taking the blanket off Kili’s legs. “Keeping him in bed when he was sick was always a battle,” he told Fili. “Yes, you have to—let’s not push it any more than we must today. We’ll get you up in a chair tomorrow, and perhaps outside for a bit. Some sun would do you a world of good.”

“That sounds great. No, let me see if I can do this myself,” Kili told his uncle as Thorin bent to lift him. It took some effort, and Thorin’s steadying arms, but Kili got out of the chair and turned enough to sit on the bed under his own steam. He allowed Thorin to lift his legs in and adjust the sheets over him, then leaned back on the pillows. “All right, you win—I’m really not up to much yet.”

“It’s getting late. Maybe it’s time for you to go to sleep,” Fili suggested. 

“But I don’t want either of you to leave yet.” Kili added in a small voice, “I don’t want to be alone.”

“Well, since Dr. Rafferty prescribed a good night’s sleep for the Professor, would it be all right if I spent the night in here? It won’t be the first time I’ve slept in a chair, or on a floor for that matter. And your uncle can take over in the morning. That way you’ll have both of us, and you won’t be alone. What do you think, Professor?”

“I think it’s a fine idea, if you don’t mind. For what it’s worth, the chair is quite comfortable—I’ve napped in it a few times myself.”

“That’s settled, then. I’ll get my stuff, hit the bathroom myself, and be back in a jiffy.”

A few minutes later, clad in new undershirt, boxers, and the oversized sweater, Fili came downstairs. “I don’t actually own pajamas. This was just in case I ran into Hannah,” he told the other men, explaining the sheet wrapped around his waist and hanging to his ankles. 

“I was wondering if that was a fashion statement of some sort, and I wasn’t sure what it was trying to say. Thank you for clearing that up. Let’s get you settled in for the night.” Thorin adjusted the pillows so Kili was reclining in a proper sleeping position. 

“Comfortable?” Kili nodded. “Do you need anything else before I go up?” 

“We’ll be fine, Uncle. You sleep well, and I’ll see you in the morning.”

“All right. My room is at the top of the stairs. If you need me, don’t hesitate to knock,” he added to Fili.

“Yes, sir.”

Thorin leaned down and pressed his forehead against his nephew’s. “Good night, my boy. Sweet dreams.” He straightened, and with a nod to Fili he left the room.

“Would you read to me some more? I like listening to you.”

“All right. Since we were talking about cowboys before, maybe some Zane Grey?” Kili nodded, and Fili picked up _Riders of the Purple Sage_. “It’s been a while since I read this one.” Fili settled into his chair, opening the book to the first page. “Chapter 1: Lassiter,” he read. “’A sharp clip-clop of iron-shod hoofs deadened and died away, and clouds of yellow dust drifted from under the cottonwoods out over the sage…’”

He read aloud for over an hour, one eye on the page and the other on Kili, recounting the story of Jane Withersteen, her growing love for the gunslinger Lassiter, and her fight against the dictates of her church. Kili was engrossed in the story, but Fili could see he was fighting to stay awake. Fili finished the chapter and shut the book. “I have to quit—the words are starting to blur together. I’ll read more tomorrow if you want.”

“Yeah, you need your sleep, too. You sure you’ll be all right in that chair?” Fili nodded. “And you’ll be here all night?”

“A team of wild horses couldn’t drag me out of here. Which, if you think about it, doesn’t make a lot of sense, since they’re wild and wouldn’t work all that well as a team.” Kili’s laugh turned into a yawn, and Fili smiled in turn. Rising from the chair and holding the sheet around his waist, he leaned over the edge of the bed. “May I kiss you good night?”

“Please.”

It was the barest touch of lips, a promise for the future, and it was both not nearly enough, and more than Fili ever dreamed he’d have. His fingers closed around Kili’s as he straightened, and the answering pressure made his heart sing. “Sleep well, my…my love,” he whispered, and he was rewarded with the spark of pure joy in Kili’s eyes before the lids finally closed over them. He turned off the light, settled back into his chair, and it wasn’t long before Kili’s soft snoring lulled him into sleep. If there were dreams, he didn’t remember them in the morning. It seemed fitting, since the best of them had already come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical Notes:
> 
> Geneva Convention—codified rules of conduct for humane treatment of the wounded or sick in times of war, modified many times over the years, but going back to the mid-1800s. Technically they do only apply in times of was, but Kili will use any loophole he can get…
> 
> Belleau Wood—a month long battle in June 1918 between allied US, British and French forced on one side, and German troops on the other. The Marines played a major role in the victory--after the battle, the French renamed the wood "Bois de la Brigade de Marine" ("Wood of the Marine Brigade") in honor of the Marines' tenacity. The cost was high – nearly 10,000 total casualties, nearly 2000 of those dead. Thorin was one of the lucky ones.
> 
> Marquess of Queenberry rules-- a code of generally accepted rules in the sport of boxing.
> 
> Kipling poem—Rudyard Kipling, who I’m sorry to say seems to have fallen out of favor due to whatever factors, wrote some of the most powerful poetry ever. This poem is called If, and the line in question reads:
> 
> If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew  
> To serve your turn long after they are gone,  
> And so hold on when there is nothing in you  
> Except the Will which says to them: “Hold on!”
> 
> Lone Ranger—the ‘daring and resourceful masked rider of the plains’ made his radio debut in 1933 and was an immediate smash, going through many adaptations over the years in radio, TV and film (we won’t talk about the mess that was the most recent version). Backstory is that a group of seven Texas Rangers were ambushed and slaughtered by the Butch Cavendish gang. One ranger, the younger brother of the Ranger captain, was rescued and nursed back to health by a Native American who became his best friend. The ranger hid his identity under a mask, fighting evil where he found it. His trademarks were the mask, silver bullets and a beautiful white horse named Silver. (and yes, he did eventually capture Cavendish after hunting the gang down one by one)
> 
> Riders of the Purple Sage—a 1912 Western novel by Zane Grey, whose writing pretty much shaped the mythological West as we know it today (or at least as we think we know it…)


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More backstory, more questions answered, and the lads make a new friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to my wonderful friend lakritzwolf, who allowed me to import two of her OCs in modified form to this story. Danny Barnett and his friend Russell came to vibrant life in her story More Than Words, and I asked permission to transport them to my timeline. I hope you like them as much as I do, and if you have not had the pleasure of reading her [story cycle](http://archiveofourown.org/series/377736), start at the beginning, with Unintended Consequences, through Two Volumes of one Book, and into More than Words.
> 
> 'Four bits' translates to about fifty cents.

The first sight to greet Fili when he opened his eyes the next morning was Kili smiling at him. “Morning. Nice legs, by the way.”

Fili, face flushing, bent down and retrieved the sheet that had dislodged at some point during the night. “Uh, thank you, I guess. How long have you been awake?”

“Just a few minutes. You looked so peaceful I didn’t want to disturb you. I’m pretty sure Uncle Thorin is already up and about—the man doesn’t know the meaning of the term ‘sleeping in’, no matter what the doctor said. Speaking of sleep, how was yours?”

“Your uncle was right, this chair really is comfortable. I’m a little stiff, but that will work out soon enough.” Wrapping the sheet around him, Fili rose to sit on the edge of the bed. “How are you feeling?”

“Well, I’ve still got about as much oomph as a rung-out dishrag, but yeah, I feel better. And I’m seriously hungry, but I bet all I get is oatmeal or something like that.”

“Give it time—you go overdoing right off the bat, you’ll make yourself sick and it’ll take you even longer to get back on your feet. I pity your poor therapist.”

“I promised I’d behave and I will. I don’t have to like it, though,” Kili said with a grimace. 

A soft knock at the door, and Thorin came in. He looked fresh, rested, and with a spark in his eyes that had not been there the day before. “I thought I heard voices. Are you ready to get cleaned up and face the day?” 

“More ready than you’ll ever know. I think I can manage a sponge bath on my own, but I might have to do without a shave this morning unless you can help me out. I’m not sure even a safety razor is a good idea right now.” 

“Oh, I think we can do a bit better than that. Come in, Danny.” Thorin stepped aside and a tall, lanky young man in hospital scrubs sidled into the room. Gentle eyes and a shy smile greeted them. Kili’s brows came down in a puzzled frown. 

“Do I…know you?” 

Danny’s smile went wider. “We’ve not been formally introduced, but I’ll wager I know you better than anyone else except maybe your mother. I’ve been helping to look after you while you’ve been asleep.” 

“Oh. Oh…” Kili’s eyes widened and his voice trailed off as he realized the implications of that statement, and Danny laughed. 

“Don’t worry about it; it’s all in the job description. It’s good to finally meet you properly. Danny Barnett.” He held out a hand and Kili shook it with a grin.  “I’m going to continue to help out as needed until you’re strong enough to manage on your own.” 

“Thank you.” 

“He’s one of Sid’s protégés,” Thorin said, “and he’s going to be a fine doctor himself one day. He starts medical school in the fall.” 

“I’m lucky Dr. Sid took a shine to me; I couldn’t ask for a better mentor. It’s thanks to him I got into med school in the first place.” 

“His letter of recommendation might have helped, but from what he tells me, your test scores spoke for themselves. And medical scholarships don’t grow on trees, especially these days.” 

Danny flushed at the praise, and turned to Fili. “And you must be Kili’s friend,” he continued, extending his hand again. “Professor Durin said you were visiting.” 

“Philip Oakes—call me Fili.” Fili clutched the sheet tight around him as he shook Danny's hand with his free one. “While you’re getting Kili ready, I’m going to go upstairs and get decent myself. See you in a bit.” 

After a bath, a shave, and fresh clothes, he and Thorin sat down to eggs, toast, oatmeal, and coffee strong enough to make his head buzz pleasantly. “I figured after sleeping in that chair all night, you could do with the boost,” Hannah said, filling his cup yet again. 

“If this doesn’t wake me up, someone better call Dr. Rafferty. Thank you, Hannah.” Fili sopped up the last of his egg yolk with the final bite of toast and washed it down with the coffee. “You’re spoiling me. Will you at least let me help with the dishes? I’m pretty good at it—got a lot of experience in my friend’s café.” 

“There’s no need for that, you’re a guest…” 

“It’d make me feel useful, and you could get started on that butterscotch pudding for Kili.” 

Hannah laughed. “You have the makings of a politician in you, young man, and I’m not entirely sure that’s a good thing. Come along, then.” The three of them gathered up the dishes and minutes later Fili was up to his elbows in hot water and suds, one of Hannah’s ample aprons protecting his clothes. While he was working, he asked questions, and found that Hannah’s mother had been housekeeper before her, and she had taken over the position shortly before Kili’s arrival. There had been attempts to woo her away from the Durins, and Fili suspected she’d been offered salaries that Thorin couldn’t match. But she had fallen in love with a boy that needed mothering, and couldn’t have been more proud of his accomplishments if she had given birth to him herself. Kili was very lucky, he decided, to have had two women in his life that loved him so much. 

Dishes finished, he drained the sink and dried his hands. As he turned around, Hannah held up a spoon. “Careful, it’s still hot, but tell me what you think.” 

Fili blew on the pudding and sipped it off the spoon. Rich and golden as a dragon’s treasure, the flavor slid over his tongue and warmed his stomach. “That’s almost sinful enough to have to go to confession. And I’m not even a big fan of butterscotch.” 

“Sounds like I’ll have to make another batch. Run along, now—I expect Kili’s done with his breakfast and he’ll be wanting to see you.” 

When Fili came in, Kili was sitting in the wheelchair, clad in fresh white pajamas, robe and slippers. “So how do I look? Turns out that Danny, in addition to his other talents, can also cut hair.” 

“I have a younger brother, and I learned out of self-defense. Mom would have put a bowI over our heads and cut around it if I hadn’t learned. At least you sit still. And I cut my friend Russell’s hair all the time, and his is curlier than yours,” Danny said. 

“Well, it looks great; thank you.” And it did, Fili agreed silently—the curls were neat and cut a bit longer than the current fashion, but too short wouldn’t have suited the strong features. “So, what about that promise of going outside today?” 

“If the porch is good enough for now, we’ll go just as soon as I take your dishes back to the kitchen. The professor said something about knocking together a ramp for the front steps this afternoon so it’ll be the yard tomorrow if you want.” 

“Oh, believe me, I want, but the porch will do just fine for now.” Danny left with the dishes, and Kili leaned back in the chair. “You know, he could probably carry me down the steps if he needed to. Remind me never to get into an arm wrestling contest with him. I was having trouble managing the tub, and he picked me up like I was nothing and put me in. I keep forgetting how skinny I am now.” 

“Well, that won’t last long if Hannah has anything to say about it. Wait’ll you taste the butterscotch pudding.” 

Kili grinned. “Won another convert, has she?” 

“If I didn’t have to go back to New York tomorrow, you’d have yourselves a boarder.” 

Kili’s smile faded. “You do have to go back, don’t you?” 

“Yeah, I do. I’ve got work to do there, and you’ve got work to do here. But we have all of today. This might be the last chance either of us gets to slack off for a while, so let’s take advantage of it.” 

Kili nodded, but a shadow still lingered in his eyes. Fili leaned down and kissed him, forgetting his surroundings, only wanting to chase away the sadness and bring back the Christmas morning smile. Kili reached up, running a thumb across his cheek, sinking into the kiss. Time stopped, golden and perfect. 

The sound of a throat clearing snapped them back to reality. Danny stood in the doorway, and the flash of panic that shot through Fili drained away under the warmth of the aide’s smile. “Sorry to interrupt,” Danny said. “The professor said he was going out for a bit, and he’d be back soon. It’s a gorgeous day; let’s get you out in it. Do you need to hit the bathroom first?” 

“N-no, I’m fine. Let’s do this.” The smile was wide and bright, even if the brown eyes still held the same confusion that Fili knew was reflected in his own. Danny laid a folded blanket on Kili’s lap and wheeled him through the house to the back door. 

Fili opened the door and Danny brought Kili out. “Sun or shade?” Danny asked. 

“Sun for now—I need to feel it for a while. I’ll probably move back later.” 

Danny parked the chair near the railing and locked the wheels. “If you want, you can exercise a little--just hold the rail and pull yourself up to stand. Just make sure the wheels are locked, or Fili is bracing it. I’m going to give you some privacy for a bit and go change your bed. Holler if you need anything.” 

Danny went inside, and Fili pulled a rocking chair closer to the railing. They sat side by side in silence for a moment. Kili’s eyes were closed and his face was tilted toward the sun. Fili watched the small smile play around his lips, saw his chest rise and fall with each deep breath. Finally Kili spoke. “You know, until this minute, I could almost con myself into believing the whole thing was a dream, but this is what makes me believe that I was really asleep so long. It was cold and gray then, and it’s sunny and hot now. Three months. I’ve got so much to catch up on.” 

“Well, save it for another day. I’ve got some questions for you.” 

Kili laughed. “I’ll bet you do. Fire away.” 

“How did you do it? How did you come to see me when your body was here the whole time? Your uncle said some stuff about bilocomotion and projectile something-or-other…” 

“Astral projection and bilocation. They’re fancy words for being able to leave your body to travel. I ran across the idea when I read Burroughs’ Mars books—it was how John Carter got to Mars. Even as a kid, I thought it would be a wonderful thing to be able to do. That was fiction, but I did a lot of research over the years, and there are documented cases of people being able to leave their bodies. While I was asleep, part of me was conscious enough to…make it happen.” 

“Weren’t you afraid that you might not be able to get back?” 

Kili nodded. “When I went to the studio with you, I stayed away too long, and I almost couldn’t come back. I wanted to talk to you, to be with you, to see what you were doing. I scared Uncle Thorin that time—remember I told you that I couldn’t always hear what he said?  That time I could. That’s why I was sad the last time I saw you—I knew it would be the last time. I couldn’t risk going again.” 

“You invaded my dreams that night. You asked me to come find you.” 

“I did? I wanted that so much, but I didn’t think I had a right to ask.” 

“You’ve got the best right in the world. What I don’t get is, if it was your spirit that traveled, how come I could touch you, and you could touch me?” 

“I’m not really sure. I know in the books, John Carter could physically interact with the world around him on Mars, but I never found a record of anyone who’d actually done it for real. I think I could do it because I wanted it so very much. And maybe I might not have been able to touch anyone else. Like if I’d had to shake Teri’s hand, I don’t know that I could have. Maybe it’s like Uncle Thorin says—for a true believer, anything is possible.” 

“Maybe so, and for whatever reason, I’m glad it worked.” Fili reached over and took Kili’s hand. “One other thing: Why start out as a little boy? Why not visit me as a grown man?” 

“Because you needed to know my story, all of it, from the start. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did. And I thought if you watched me grow up, you’d start to feel the way I did when I first saw that picture. Yeah, I know,” Kili said to the look of shock that Fili could feel crossing his face. “Not logical, or sensible, but the heart isn’t reasonable a lot of the time.” 

_The heart has its reasons, of which reason knows nothing._ Fili gripped the thin hand in his tighter. “No, it’s not. I’m glad I got to watch you grow up and chase your dreams.” 

“And I’m watching you chase yours now. I wish I could see that painting of Mama and Papa.” 

“You will, when you’re back on your feet again. I finished the color sketch this week. I’ll bring it the next time I come, if that’s all right.” 

“Yes to both parts—the bringing it with you, and the coming back.” 

That Christmas morning smile again—Fili felt his heart do a slow roll over in his chest. He was sunk deeper than the _Titanic_ , and he had no intention of ever coming up for air again. “I hope you like what I’ve done for your parents; I want you to be proud.” 

“I already am.” Kili gave Fili’s hand one more squeeze. “And now it’s your turn to answer some questions. You know my story, but I only know a little of yours. I want to hear it. And like you said, we’ve got the whole day.” 

“That’s kind of a tall order; we’re talking about twenty-eight years here.” 

“Well, how about some highlights? Favorite color, when did you know you wanted to be an artist, when is your birthday, and maybe something about your parents? That’ll do for starters.” 

“Okay. My birthday is August 29, and my favorite color is blue, any shade. I knew I wanted to be an artist pretty much the first time I picked up a pencil. Mama was the one who always found me some extra paper when I needed it. I think I used most of it trying to copy the pictures from the art books I found at the library. The way Mama carried on, you’d have thought I was the second coming of Michelangelo. She’s the other reason I want to do a good job with your parents’ portrait—she’s always believed in me, and I want to justify that faith. She’s the one that encouraged me to save up to go to New York. I just didn’t expect to go as soon as I did. Dad…saw things differently.” 

Kili squeezed his hand in silence, and that was enough to break the dam. The words came pouring out—the fight and subsequent flight to the city, the years of struggle, and the low point that produced the self-portrait. The sun rose in the sky, Kili listened, and at one point Danny came out with glasses of ice water, setting them down and vanishing again without a word. 

The torrent eventually turned into a trickle, then petered out into silence. Fili felt his face redden, and he knew it wasn’t the effects of the summer sun. Where had all that come from? Some of it—hell, most of it—was stuff he’d never told another soul. “I’m sorry,” he finally said after downing most of his glass of water. He kept his gaze lowered, not daring to meet Kili’s eyes. “I’m going on and on like Tennyson’s brook, giving you my life story. You didn’t need to hear all that; you should have stopped me.” 

A gentle hand touched his cheek, and there was only understanding in the whiskey-gold eyes. “Hey, I asked you, remember? And I’m glad you told me all that. I don’t know what Mama and Papa would have thought about me being…the way I am, but I know I was so lucky to have Uncle Thorin. And it sounds like your friends love you just the way you are, too, from what you told me. How did you meet them, anyway?” 

Fili smiled at the memory. “It was about five years ago, I guess. It was a rainy day, and there I was, down to my last four bits after paying the rent, looking for someplace to dry off. I just wanted something warm inside me, and I figured a cup of coffee would do the trick. So I walked into Bombur’s place, sat at the counter, and ordered a cup. A guy sitting next to me got up and left half his slice of pie behind, and boy, did it look good. So I slid it over in front of me and started eating—no sense in letting it go to waste, right? It was busy; I didn’t think anyone would notice. Well, Vanna did. Next thing I know, there’s another slice in front of me. I told her I couldn’t afford it if I wanted to eat the next day, and she asked if I’d be willing to work for it, and maybe for some supper. I asked her, why me? She said, ‘Because I’ll bet your mama is worried about you, and I hope someone would do that for my boy if he was far from home.’ I couldn’t help it, I started to cry right there. She just filled my coffee cup again, gave me a clean fork, and told me to let her know when I was done. I pitched in to help in the kitchen that night and the next day, and I’ve been there off and on ever since.” 

“She’s a good woman, and I can’t wait to meet her. But I won’t get to until I get stronger. Do you mind moving me down to the shade? I want to exercise a little bit, and it’s a lot warmer out here than I thought it would be.” 

Fili rolled the chair into the shade, locked the wheels, and stood behind it to brace it. Thin fingers gripped the railing, and Kili hauled himself to his feet. Fili noticed that he never lowered himself fully back down to the chair seat, making his legs do as much work as they would. Up and down he went, deep breaths, jaw set, a fierce fire in his eyes. Finally after several repetitions, Kili collapsed back into the chair with a puffed grunt, sweat standing out on his forehead. 

“God, I feel like a drowned rat. I’ve got a lot of work to do.” 

“Well, do it after lunch—Miss Hannah sent me to round you two up,” Danny called from the screen door.  The door creaked open and Danny bent to unlock Kili’s wheels. “And I said ‘exercise a little’, you’re not training for the Olympics. Take it easy.” 

“If the doctor gives you any grief about it, tell him to talk to me. I know what I can do and what I can’t.” 

“It’ll be okay. Dr. Sid said you might be a handful, but I told him you couldn’t be any worse than my friend Russell,” Danny laughed as he wheeled Kili inside. “When he broke his leg last year, he moaned and complained for three weeks about it. I finally told him if he kept it up, he wouldn’t have to worry about how long it would take to heal because I was gonna beat him to death with his crutches. As it was, he talked the doc into taking the cast off sooner than he should have. And getting Dr. Sid to do anything he doesn’t want to do is no mean feat. He’s got the gift of gab, Russell does, and he’s not even Irish.” 

“He sounds like quite a guy, your friend,” Kili said. “And it sounds like you’re pretty close.” 

“Yeah, we are.” The simple words coupled with the smile in his eyes spoke volumes. ”I hope you two don’t mind my talking about him. I don’t get to with…well, anybody, really.” 

“We don’t mind at all,” Fili assured him after exchanging a glance with Kili. “It’s good to have someone who’ll listen.” 

Thorin had taken the picture of himself and Kili to be framed, and after lunch he solicited opinions on where to display it. It was finally installed on the mantle, nestled between family photos, and Fili felt a flush of pride at its placement. “I’m honored, Professor. Thank you.” 

“Thank you for creating it. I’m going to leave all of you to your own devices for a bit; I have some letters and calls to catch up on. I’ve already heard from Bella twice today—I don’t think I’m going to be able to put her off much longer, Kili. She is going to blow in like a motherly hurricane.” 

“Let her come; I can handle it.” 

“And after it cools down and the sun shifts, I’ll get started on that ramp, if Danny doesn’t mind lending a hand.” 

“Sure thing, Professor. Kili, let’s get you settled in to bed for a bit—and those are Dr. Sid’s orders, so don’t give me any trouble about it,” Danny warned, seeing the bullish look in Kili’s eyes. “He said rest as much as you can for at least a few days. You and Fili can still talk or whatever, but you’re doing in lying down.” 

“All right, but I’m coming out to supervise that ramp later.” 

“Deal. Let’s go.” Danny wheeled Kili back into the bedroom and got him comfortable. “I’ve got some reading to do, so I’ll be close by. Holler if you need me.” 

“Thanks, Danny.” Danny turned to leave, and Kili said, “Hey, Danny?” 

“Yeah?” 

“I think Russell is a lucky guy.” 

Danny flushed. “I think I’m the lucky one. He’s smart and talented and handsome and funny. I’m not sure just what he sees in me, but you know the saying about looking gift horses in the mouth…” 

“You are kind, and strong, and intelligent, and if Fili doesn’t mind my saying so, quite good looking yourself,” Kili interrupted. “Dr. Rafferty thinks you’re great, and so does Uncle Thorin, and those are two men whose opinion I’d trust on pretty much anything. Don’t sell yourself short.” 

Danny’s smile was slow, but it was bright when it finally came out. “Thanks. I hope you get to meet him sometime. Take it easy for a while.” He left and shut the door behind him. 

A huge yawn cracked Kili’s jaw, and Fili laughed. “I guess I’m a little more tired than I thought,” Kili said with a wry grin. “Think you can read to me for a little while?” 

“More Zane Grey?” 

“Sure. We were just getting to the good stuff.” 

Fili found the chapter where he’d left off the night before and continued with the Western tale. It wasn’t long before Kili’s eyes started drooping shut, and the soft snores started. Fili closed the book, settled into the chair, and closed his own eyes. With a full belly and a fuller heart, he let sleep claim him, too. 

There were vague dreams of himself and Kili galloping across scrub brush and past tumbleweeds, the wind whipping Kili’s curls and the sun flashing off the whiskey eyes. Fili, city boy born and raised, had never been on a horse in his life, but dreams usually only bore a nodding acquaintance with reality. He kept pace with Kili, his own eyes squinted against the sun, laughter in his soul. Freedom surrounded them, and the world was in front of them under a burning blue sky. His lips curled up in an unconscious smile, and he was content.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Historical notes, short and sweet this time:
> 
> Edgar Rice Burroughs, one of the most prolific and imaginative authors of the early 20th century, created a raft of iconic characters, including Tarzan and John Carter of Mars. The basic premise of John Carter's story is that, after the Civil War, he began prospecting for gold with a partner, and while hiding from Apaches in a cave, was found seemingly dead. In reality, he was transported by astral projection to the red planet Mars, where factions warred and his services were needed. The story began in 1912, and has captured generations ever since. The 2012 film John Carter of Mars, was released on the 100th anniversary of the first story's publication (and yeah, I loved the film!)


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